


I've Never Liked A Smile As Much As I Like Yours

by hagface



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: College AU, Coming Out, Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Therapy, art school au, not really - Freeform, seriously super light, they just be falling in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 65,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23929717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagface/pseuds/hagface
Summary: Patrick Brewer had never set foot in a craft store before. He’d had absolutely no reason to. His mother was into crafts but he wasn’t an artsy person—he didn’t paint… or crochet or… do whatever it was people did with felt. Visual art had never been his thing. Other than music, a hobby he’d effectively dropped when he started university three years ago, Patrick had no creative outlet. He needed a creative outlet.That’s what his therapist said anyway.“Why don’t you take an art class?” She’d suggested during their second meeting.“An art class?” he asked.-Or: Patrick and David are both college students and they meet when Patrick decides to take an art class.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 573
Kudos: 622





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this is actually the first fic I've ever written! I have no idea what I'm doing! Be kind!
> 
> You can find me as hagface on tumblr if you want to chat!

Patrick Brewer had never set foot in a craft store before. He’d had absolutely no reason to. His mother was into crafts but he wasn’t an artsy person—he didn’t paint… or crochet or… do whatever it was people did with felt. Visual art had never been his thing. Other than music, a hobby he’d effectively dropped when he started university three years ago, Patrick had no creative outlet. He needed a creative outlet.

That’s what his therapist said anyway.

“Why don’t you take an art class?” She’d suggested during their second meeting.

“An art class?” He said.

Patrick started seeing her in the middle of October when midterms were looming and he’d just broken up with Rachel. Again. Things had never felt more wrong—he’d never felt more wrong—in his life. He’d seen all these posters around school, you know, the ones about mental health awareness and self-care and how important it was to talk to somebody. They were colorful and in every building and every Professor’s office, so that you knew they cared even when they were failing you for handing in your paper an hour and half late. And there were counselors and therapists available for the students so he thought it was something he could try, maybe. And nobody had to know. Besides he didn’t need to go back if he didn’t like it. And he was probably just feeling the stress of midterms, right?

So Patrick made an appointment to see a therapist.

Patrick never thought he’d need therapy. He’d never though he’d end up with this… pit in his stomach everyday. He’d been a happy kid, hadn’t he? His parents loved him and he had friends. He got good grades and he played sports—mostly baseball but some soccer and lacrosse too. He had Rachel. Since he was 15, he’d had her. He had a plan for his life and everything seemed easy. Business school was obvious; he was great at math and the career potential was limitless. So business school, a steady job… and Rachel. His vision for his future snagged on Rachel every time and for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.

Rachel was perfect. She was smart and kind—so kind, all the time—and she was pretty. And patient. She’d been so patient with Patrick. Every hang up he’d had about their relationship, she’d understood. She’d listened. And every time she’d managed to convince him that nothing was actually wrong. When Patrick didn’t want to have sex, she never pressured him. She told him it was okay, it was okay to not be ready, or to not want it. Some people didn’t want sex. But it wasn’t okay. Because Patrick _did_ want it, or rather, he _wanted_ to want it. But Rachel never pushed it and so they were together for over two years before they had sex for the first time. And it was fine. It was good. Rachel had liked it and so Patrick had—it was fine.

The problem was that Patrick liked Rachel. A lot. She was a great friend and they had a good time together. It’s just that he never actually felt more than that for her. He didn’t think he did anyway, but how was he supposed to know for sure? Kisses were nice and sex was fine and Rachel was happy so Patrick didn’t object. His friends told him he was lucky to have her, and his parents loved her too. So he felt like it must be right and Patrick liked to get things right.

They stayed together until they graduated high school. Halfway through the summer Rachel suggested that maybe it’d be better to go to college single, and Patrick, perhaps too willingly, agreed. So they broke-up and went to separate colleges and it was nice. They focused on their own lives separate from each other and it was nice. It was nice until it was lonely.

They were back together by the end of their first semester.

This time it felt good to Patrick. This time it would work. It felt nice to have somebody to talk to and to know him and, well, isn’t that close enough to love? He had somebody to call late at night when he felt scared about the future or stressed about exams, somebody he could talk about his family with. Share memories with, because she had been around for nearly all of them. That was love, right? Patrick thought it must be. But he also thought that if it was, it was kind of disappointing.

By sophomore year Patrick had become better friends with some of his classmates and the guys on his baseball team and he didn’t feel like he needed Rachel so desperately anymore. So he’d broken up with her. She’d cried because she wanted him and he’d cried because he had no idea what he wanted.

That break-up lasted nearly a month, until he went home for winter break and she was there and wanted to get back together and it was a lot harder to disappoint Rachel when you actually had to look at her. So they got back together and it was good again.

It was good because they were both busy and hardly had time to see each other… So they’d text a little everyday and talk on the phone twice a week and it was like they were nothing more than friends and Patrick liked it that way.

They spent the summer together but they both had jobs and Patrick made sure to stay busy enough that they only really went out once a week—and even then most of the time it was with a group of friends. So it stayed good.

He started his junior year that September and that’s when things changed. The first week back was always fun; it was great to see all of his friends and classmates and the start of new classes was always easy and exciting. But by the second week things had settled and he’d woken up one morning with a heaviness in his chest and that dreadful pit in his stomach and it didn’t go away.

He knew he was too far into his degree to change majors without screwing up his timeline. Besides it’s not like he knew what else he would do. He felt chained to his degree and chained to Rachel and one of the chains was easier to break than the other. So October came and Rachel started to talk about visiting him and doing cute couple things like pumpkin picking and hayrides and corn mazes and Patrick just… panicked.

“Rachel, stop!” He said, his panic making his voice more aggressive than he meant it to sound. Rachel stayed quiet, inviting him to fill the silence.

“I want to break up,” he said, feeling cruel even as the words left his mouth. Just because things didn’t feel right with Rachel didn’t mean he wanted to hurt her. He still thought of her as a friend. He _did_ care about her.

“I don’t think you know what you want, Patrick,” She said, sounding tired and maybe disappointed. At least she didn’t cry this time.

After the break-up, he felt better. For about three days, he felt better. Then he felt guilty and lonely and stressed again. Just the very fact that he still felt bad made him feel worse. What was his problem? When he was with Rachel, he always wished that he wasn’t. And then when he wasn’t, it felt like he’d made a mistake. No matter what, he didn’t feel right.

With midterms coming up, his emotions were a lot to handle. He couldn’t focus on studying but he also couldn’t think about anything else. In his panic spiral he ended up missing two days of class. Of course missing class only made his mood worse. Patrick Brewer never missed class. 

So. Therapy.

The first time he went he couldn’t stop shaking. It was like he’d had too much coffee, except that Patrick never drank coffee. It took a lot out of him to admit something was wrong and that he couldn’t handle it himself. He thought about canceling the entire 48 hours leading up to his appointment. He didn’t know if he was nervous to talk about his feelings or nervous to find out something was wrong with him. Or possibly, probably, nervous to find out that nothing was wrong with him and this was just how people felt. How he felt. How he would feel forever. That was the thought that scared him into keeping his appointment.

They’d kept the conversation casual at the first meeting. He talked about school and his friends. Briefly about Rachel and why he’d broken up with her.

“Have you ever dated anyone else?” She asked, casually. She had a smooth voice and a way of speaking that said _answer this question or don’t, follow this thread of conversation or take it somewhere else—your choice._

“No, I… There was never anyone else that I wanted to date,” Patrick said.

“So you were with her because there were no other options?” There was never any judgment in her voice, but there _was_ always interest.

“No, of course not. Rachel was great. She was perfect.”

“For you?”

“What?”

“You’ve mentioned three times now how perfect Rachel is, but never that you actually liked being with her. I just wonder what connection you had beyond going to the same high school, growing up in the same town.” _Follow this thread_ said the voice in the back of his head.

Patrick, suddenly uncomfortable, steered the conversation towards midterms and stress, and she, of course, let him. He mentioned towards the end of the hour how sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breath even when he knew he was breathing just fine and that’s when she suggested he maybe come back again next week.

So he did. Though he felt no less uncertain after his session, he did feel lighter. Like just being able to talk about his uncertainty with someone had helped. He knew that was the point of therapy, why so many people liked it, but he didn’t think it would actually _work._

At their second meeting she asked about his other interests. What he did for fun. He mentioned baseball and music. She was happy to hear he was part of a team and happier to hear that he had an interest in music. She was unhappy to hear that he hadn’t played anything in close to three years. In addition to having limited free time outside of classes and baseball, he’d also felt no desire to play. He’d brought his guitar with him his first semester but when he realized he didn’t want to play and, even more, he didn’t want anyone to _ask_ him to play, he’d brought it home and stored it in the back of his closet and there it remained.

So when she suggested he find another creative outlet, like maybe an art class, he laughed. He hadn’t taken an art class since it was mandatory in middle school. He hadn’t colored or so much as doodled since then either.

“So you might even learn something. I think it will be good for you.”

“Why?” Patrick asked.

“I think its good to have balance in your life, Patrick. To explore things you are unfamiliar with, to be creative. Didn’t music make you feel good? Art can scratch that same itch.”

Patrick didn’t really want to do it—he wasn’t good at art and he wasn’t interested in things he wasn’t good at—but he did have space in his schedule next semester and so he told her he’d think about it.

They had a standing appointment every Thursday afternoon and Patrick thought it was actually helping. He tried to avoid talking about Rachel because that usually led to his therapist asking questions that he didn’t know how to answer, but he had plenty of other things to talk about. At the very least he could vent and it was another hour out of the day that he wasn’t alone. So he was okay and he thought maybe she forgot about the art class.

She didn’t bring it up again until the beginning of December when she presented him with a list of classes that were open to non-majors. He sighed but looked at the list anyway.

_Sculpture 1_

_Painting 1_

_Intro to Printmaking_

_Life Drawing 1_

_Drawing for Beginners_

He thought maybe sculpture would be good and not only because it was the first thing on the list. He could work with his hands. He could make a bowl or a mug and give it to his mom. She’d like that.

He’d already registered for the bulk of his classes at the end of November, because he knew what he needed to take and it was important he make it into those classes. But he left enough room in his schedule for a fifth class in case anything interesting opened up. However, it wasn’t until about mid-December that he went to register for Sculpture. Even after agreeing with his therapist, he’d stalled, hoping that maybe he’d find another business class to take instead. But he didn’t, and the deeper into December they went, the more Patrick realized he’d rather take an art class than risk taking no fifth class at all. Too much free time was not good for him.

Unfortunately, introductory art classes fill up fast, and sculpture was no longer an option. The only open course left was _Life Drawing 1_. So he registered for it. Because it would be good for him.

Probably.

So _that’s_ how he ended up in a craft store for the first time nearly a month later. It was mid-January and he had a week left of winter break before the spring semester started. He received an email earlier that week with a list—a _long_ list—of supplies he’d need for his art class. Half the things on the list he’d never heard of and the other half was just a list of paint colors. When all was said and done, supplies for _Life Drawing 1_ had cost him about $200. He wished he’d known it would cost him so much when he agreed to take the class, but as the price was on par with that of a textbook, he let it go.

Patrick was more than happy to return to school a few days early. He managed to see Rachel only once over break, despite his best efforts to avoid her. She’d texted him about five times since they’d broken up, sometimes a random string of letters and sometimes actual words, but he’d ignored them all the same. So when she showed up at the same party, a party none of her friends were at, he’d dodged her for about two hours before finally deciding to leave the party early. His buddies were bummed but he knew that he couldn’t avoid her much longer, and if they did end up talking, the odds of them getting back together were very, _very,_ high. So Patrick had to take responsibility and remove himself from the situation.

Even though he loved seeing his parents, and his cousins and friends, being home stressed him out. He lived in a small town and could run into Rachel literally anywhere. He couldn’t get milk for his mother without looking over his shoulder. So, at risk of disappointing his parents, he went back to school early.

Patrick was happy to be back on campus—he felt closer to his college friends than he did his high school friends, and there was no Rachel to worry about—and even happier to start classes. He had scheduled an appointment with his therapist for that first week of classes back in December, knowing that being home for a month would do a number on his mental health. So he had that to look forward to as well.

His first art class was at noon on Tuesday. He had an economics class that morning all the way across campus. Shockingly, the math building and the art building were nowhere near each other, an issue he should have factored in when making his schedule. He had 10 minutes to make it to his next class on time.

So that’s how he found himself jogging across campus and hiking up four flights of stairs (the fourth floor, _really_?) to make it to Life Drawing. He was exhausted and sweaty and probably red in the face by the time he shuffled into the classroom and looked around. It was simultaneously like no classroom he’d ever seen before and also exactly like he thought it would be. The room was big and bright—there were skylights letting in a ton of sun—and full of easels and old furniture. Everything was covered in paint. It was assaulting to his eyes and yet, completely pleasant. It was worlds different than a math classroom. All the mismatched furniture made it cozy, homey.

Patrick felt like he could breath. Maybe this _would_ be good for him.

The room was busy with other students talking or working, standing in front of easels or sitting, washing brushes by the sink or just waiting for class to officially start. Patrick shifted his backpack, which was heavy with paint and brushes and something called vine charcoal, and made his way to an empty easel. He put his bag down and dropped his body into a plush, orange chair that had to be close to 30 years old. It was dirty and ratty but very comfortable.

He let out a loud huff, finally able to rest after his marathon across campus.

The guy next to him looked up from his sketchbook with such malice in his eyes that Patrick thought he must have sat on his puppy. Or maybe Patrick only read it as malice because his eyes were so intense; everything about his face was intense. Dark eyes and darker eyebrows and his mouth—his mouth was set so firmly that Patrick had to stop himself from reaching out to touch it, if only to prove to himself that this man was a man and not a sculpture left behind by some careless art student…that he was flesh and not stone.

This guy was handsome, frighteningly so, and Patrick felt his heartbeat, which had only just begun to settle, pick right back up.

He’d thought before that he might be gay, only briefly, the way most people consider it at some point… and all his problems with Rachel had made him think once that maybe… but it had never quite taken hold of him as it did now... had never settled into his brain with such ease as it did in this moment. He’d always found guys attractive—he’d seen plenty of half-dressed guys in the locker-room to know—but he’d never had a crush on one, and it wasn’t like he found girls _unattractive_. And any sexual desire he’d ever experienced had always made him think of Rachel, never mind that it wasn’t Rachel he’d been thinking of when the feelings came on. But he’d always been with Rachel and he was nothing if not loyal. And even when things felt off, he had never really thought to look for anyone else.

But now… he was by no means certain enough to shout it to the universe, but he was maybe curious enough to give it more thought. Because he’d never actually gotten butterflies before, not the good kind anyway—the light and happy kind that meant you were excited about something… _someone_. Any butterflies he might have experienced before, for Rachel maybe, he knew now were more like wasps—a nervous buzzing in his stomach, annoying and more than a little scary. A feeling that you wanted to immediately get rid of, not one that you wanted to chase.

After eyeing Patrick for a solid 5 seconds—a very long time to be on the receiving end of a stare like that—the guy dropped his gaze back to his book.

“You’re sweating,” he said, all nonchalance.

Patrick was shocked the guy had spoken to him at all, let alone insulted him, a stranger. It was an insult, right? Or was it just an observation? Could someone point out that you were a sweaty mess without meaning to insult you at least a little bit? Could someone who looked so pristine, in what Patrick could only assume was a very expensive black sweater, point out the disheveled appearance of someone else and not intend for it to sting?

“I just ran up four flights of stairs,” Patrick answered, a little defensively. The man may not need to look at Patrick for more than a few seconds to form an opinion, but Patrick could not say the same. He had no idea how to read this person and was maybe a little desperate for this guy to like him. Or at least not immediately dismiss him.

“Why?” The guy had stopped scribbling in his book and looked at Patrick again, his gaze taking him apart for the second time in as many minutes. Patrick, feeling shaken by his impromptu workout and even more unexpected sexual crisis, did not know how to answer him. Why else would he run up _four flights of stairs_ other than to make it to class on time? Why would he even ask this question, if not just to mess with him?

Patrick, three crises removed from coherent human interaction, answered, “I…uh, we… we’re on the fourth floor,” as if the question was ‘why not run up three flights of stairs? Or five? Why four?’ Patrick was entirely out of his element and wasn’t yet used to sounding so stupid.

“Mm. We are.” Haughty.

“And I’m in this class.” Patrick was just stacking stupid on top of stupid at this point. What was wrong with him?

“Okay.” Dismissive.

“And it’s the first day and I didn’t want to be late and my last class was all the way across campus.” He could tell his voice was desperate but he wanted this conversation to be over. He wanted this conversation to have never happened in the first place. He wanted this… this person… to not think he was a total waste of space.

“You should’ve taken the elevator.” He said it so casually but the way the corner of his mouth twitched gave away his satisfaction.

“The…elevator?”

“Mm.” He turned away from Patrick, punch line landed, conversation over.

“There’s an elevator,” Patrick said, incredulous.

“There are two actually.” Patrick didn’t know this man but he could hear something like humor in his voice. Glee, maybe. “Yeah one of them is right outside the stairwell… you must’ve just… run right past it.”

Patrick thought that if his face were not still flushed from his race across campus, it certainly would be now. This guy was making fun of him right? Verbally poking him? He thought he should be annoyed but he actually kind of liked it. He liked anybody he could laugh with. There was a thrill that came with being teased by someone so attractive. Teasing was how he flirted, too. Not that he thought this guy was flirting with him, but… he could be, right? His mouth quirked.

“Wow. Next you’re going to tell me there’s a bathroom in this building and I didn’t have to pee in that bush outside,” Patrick said. It was a cheap joke, but it landed exactly the way Patrick hoped it would. The guy’s entire face transformed—he scrunched his nose and his mouth turned down in one of the most dramatic frowns Patrick had seen.

“Okay,” the guy said, like he meant to say _we’re done here_. Patrick had put them back on even ground and it felt good.

“I’m Patrick,” he said, holding out his hand. The guy looked at it and glanced away, his features going neutral again. Patrick held his hand out for a couple more seconds before letting it drop. He thought maybe that was it.

But then,

“I’m David,” he said, and Patrick thought he saw the stone crack, just a little.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading and commenting!! It means the world to me!
> 
> This chapter was so much fun to write so I hope you guys enjoy it! Updates will probably not be this frequent in the future, but I'll do my best to at least post weekly!
> 
> As always I'm hagface on tumblr if you want to say hi!

David hated bathroom humor—it was cheap and it was childish and it was gross. Truthfully, Patrick’s comment about peeing in the bushes should have ruined David’s opinion of him, shattered it. Forever.

But it didn’t. And David blamed that _damn sparkle_ in his too-big, too-earnest eyes. It had appeared the second he began to tease David and had remained through the end of class.

David was traditionally very good at ignoring people. He wasn’t sure why he even spoke to Patrick. Didn’t know why he said anything about the sweat. It’s not like Patrick didn’t know he was sweating, right? David wasn’t trying to embarrass the guy. And if the flush on his face and the gentle heaving of his chest had done something to David, well, that was his burden to bare, right? But then he was commenting and Patrick was rambling like a goofy idiot and then they were both teasing and possibly even enjoying it and, well, by the end of the class David had made a friend.

 _That makes two_ , he thought.

It’s not like David had immediately thought Patrick was delicious—just cute. He was handsome, even, in a boyish kind of way. And obviously out of place in an art classroom. Which made David like him. Even though David was an artist, he didn’t actually like other artists. They were too… well, honestly they were too much like him. Particular and opinionated and pretentious. So he hadn’t made many friends. There was Stevie and, now, Patrick.

David had transferred here last semester after two years at Elmdale Community College. He’d taken the time there to complete all of his general education requirements and to think about what he wanted out of life. Or at least what he should major in. When he settled on art, which was an easy decision because it was the only thing he was actually good at, he’d transferred.

He’d looked at apartments just off campus—he was _not_ going to be living in a dorm, thank you very much—but he’d still needed a roommate in order to afford rent. After looking at three different places, he finally found a place and a roommate he could tolerate. His room was small but there were no mysterious stains on the walls and the window faced west so the sunrise wouldn’t wake him too early—David took his beauty sleep _very_ seriously. The apartment was within walking distance of campus and his roommate, Stevie, was rude and funny. If he weren’t too proud, David would admit he liked her almost immediately.

Stevie went to school part-time and majored in management or hospitality or something that David remembered thinking was at odds with the standoffish personality she presented to the world. But she worked the front desk at one of the local hotels, so he supposed it all made sense in the end.

She was pretty, too, which made it all the more unfortunate that she dressed the way she did. The endless parade of flannels did nothing to flatter her body or her mind. Their divided opinions on fashion didn’t stop them from sleeping together though. It only happened once, about two weeks after David moved in. Despite the fact that it was actually pretty good sex, David realized it presented a unique set of problems when he couldn’t sneak out of her apartment in the early morning because, well, it was his apartment too. So the fact that they were roommates put a halt on that venture real fast. Besides, David _did_ actually value her friendship—sex was easy to find, but the dry wit and finely curated insults Stevie supplied were harder to come by.

David started his first semester as a transfer student last fall and made it the entire semester without connecting with any of his classmates. Well, he _connected_ with a few people, but not in the way that mattered. He’d enjoyed all of his classes though, so it was easy to ignore how lonely he actually was. If he could distract himself then what did it matter if he didn’t have many friends?

David had always found it hard to make friends, like actual _genuine_ friends, but he had taken one look at Patrick in his out-of-place, disheveled state and it had seemed easy. Easy to tease him and easier to like him. And even stranger was that Patrick seemed to like David too.

Life Drawing met Tuesdays and Thursdays from noon until three, and if David was a little less grouchy on Thursday morning than usual, Stevie didn’t mention it. David refused to take morning classes for his own benefit, yes, but also for the benefit of others. No one needed to see what David was like at nine o’clock in the morning, least of all David. So he’d wake up around 10, take his time getting ready, have two cups of coffee, and leave his apartment around 11:20. It took him maybe twenty minutes to walk to class, but he liked to be early in order to set up his space properly. Besides, being early saved him the awkwardness of _choosing_ to sit near somebody. If someone wanted to sit by him, then that was their choice. It was all part of David’s plan to appear detached and unbothered.

When David entered the classroom 20 minutes early, there were two others students working on personal projects. The studio classrooms were never actually empty—they were open to students to use in their free time, provided they don’t interfere with classes. David had taken advantage of the space many times himself, especially when most of the students were gone over winter break. It’s not like he had extra space in his apartment, or the money to by himself an easel for that matter. He’d gotten very comfortable in this classroom—the light was great and his classmates knew enough by now to leave him alone.

The classroom was arranged differently everyday. Today there was a platform in the middle of the floor and most of the easels had been arranged in a circle around it. That usually meant that there would be a model .

David picked an easel and dropped his bag in front of it. He assumed they’d just be drawing today, probably quick poses using charcoal. They usually didn’t start painting until a few weeks into the semester, so there wasn’t much to set up today—no palette of paint to arrange, no brushes to clean. He sat in one of the comfier seats (another good reason to show up early—sitting on a crooked stool for three hours did nobody any favors) and waited for class to start.

He tried not to think about seeing Patrick, tried not to look forward to it. Who’s to say Patrick hadn’t dropped the class? Or, if he hadn’t, that they’d even sit together again? Patrick was a friendly guy—he might choose to bless someone else with his company today. It was entirely possibly that the whole… _thing_ … had been some sort of fluke. It had happened to David before. In fact, David had a habit of reading more into relationships than the other person. So he guarded himself, trampled the spark within him before it had time to catch.

That’s what he _wanted_ to do anyway. David liked to believe he was guarded and aloof, that he had sturdy walls around his heart. That he could protect himself from feelings and disappointment. But it wasn’t true. He had big emotions and he felt them all, all the time. Indulged them, in fact. David had a habit of wallowing in whatever emotions he was feeling, like when you dig your thumb into a black and blue just to make sure it still hurts. He’d like to believe that the walls he built were made of brick, but honestly, they were straw and they came down with the gentlest blow. But he was a good actor, so people saw the walls and assumed they were brick, assumed his heart was too guarded to even bother trying to reach it. So the result was the same in the end, and that worked well enough for David.

David sat on his phone, scrolling through social media, doing anything to look like he was not just… waiting. He thought maybe being early wasn’t actually worth a good seat if it meant he looked desperate and anxious. Even if he _was_ kind of desperate and anxious. Patrick could be late again, David thought. He _did_ have a class all the way across campus—

“Hi.” David looked up, and Patrick was there, smiling and decidedly un-sweaty. He was cuter than David remembered.

“Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you… You look… showered,” David said, immediately furrowing his brow. Why would he say that? It wasn’t even a compliment and now he was thinking of Patrick in the shower. He shook his head.

“Yeah, well… The sweaty look is usually just for first impressions. After that, I, uh… switch things up. Is this seat taken?” Patrick asked, though it obviously wasn’t.

“Yes,” David said, bobbing his head dramatically. “I have a friend—“

“Oh, you have a friend? Good for you, man!” Patrick smiled wide, cheeky, and dropped his bag. He sat, and though David knew he had just been insulted, he couldn’t help but twist his mouth into some sort of smile. He did not, however, appreciate being called _man_. That endearment was way too bro-ish for him, but as it was Patrick’s first offense, he let it slide.

“Well, I _am_ widely popular. Some might even venture to call me beloved,” David said, but even he couldn’t take himself seriously.

“That’s a bit of a stretch,” Patrick replied, already comfortable with their dynamic. He shifted his seat and readjusted his easel, trying for a more comfortable position. If, when all was said and done, he ended up just a fraction closer to David, then it was surely a coincidence.

More students trickled into the classroom and the professor followed a few minutes later. Things were hectic for a minute, while students talked and dragged easels across the floor, switched seats and shoved useless furniture out of the way. Patrick watched the whole ordeal with amusement. Once everyone had settled, the professor started talking.

“So today we’re going to have a model,” She began. “We’ll be doing some basic figure drawing. We’ll start with gestures and some quick five-minute poses. I’d prefer you use charcoal, but graphite is okay too.” She paused and David began to dig through his bag for his supplies. He watched Patrick do the same. While David’s supplies were all well loved, Patrick’s were brand new and unopened. David could picture him shopping for art supplies and meticulously checking each item off the list their professor had sent them. The thought made him smile.

“Remember to keep your lines loose. We’re not trying to capture detail with this exercise, okay? Were trying to capture motion, the energy in the pose.” There was a knock on the door and the professor moved to open it. Between searching his bag and watching Patrick out of the corner of his eye, David’s attention was spoken for.

“Everyone, this is Jake. He will be our model for today, and throughout the semester.” The professor said. Jake stood next to her, dressed in a long robe, and waved to the class.

“Fuck,” David said, looking up just in time to meet Jake’s gaze. He winked at David, before looking away.

“Do you know him?” Patrick asked, looking between David and Jake.

“Uh, we’ve… spent some time together.” David said, sucking his top lip into his mouth. He didn’t specify what kind of time they spent together, but Patrick understood nonetheless.

“Oh… _oh_ , you mean you…”

“Yes, yes. Twice, actually.” David grimaced, trying to convey that he didn’t view those two occurrences with much fondness.

“ _Twice,_ ” Patrick said quietly, more to himself than to David.

Jake had been a decent lay, but the mess of events that came afterwards had soured the experience for David. The first time they slept together had been at Jake’s place. The second time, David had invited Jake to his apartment. Things had been fine until Jake went to get water and had met Stevie in the kitchen. The next few times he’d shown up at the apartment had _not_ been for David. It’s not like he thought out of the entire student body, Jake was only sleeping with him. He just thought out of the entire student body living in apartment 4B… But that was months ago and David was mostly over it.

Jake climbed onto the platform and did a couple of quick stretches, before unceremoniously dropping his robe. He settled into a fairly basic pose, his front angled towards David. He had a near perfect body, but he didn’t seem as irresistible as he had last semester.

“Oh—oh my god,” Patrick said, and when David looked at him he was blushing crimson.

“You okay?” David asked.

“Uh, yes. I just didn’t… realize… that… _that_ would be, uh, happening,” Patrick said, nodding towards Jake’s nude figure and refusing to look at David. If David thought confident-witty Patrick was great, shy Patrick was even better.

“Right, you’ve never taken an art class before.” Patrick had told David this last class, but David had assumed Patrick had at least know that _Life Drawing_ meant that they would be _drawing_ from _life._

“No I have not. I mean, I knew things like this happened, I guess. I’ve seen movies. I just didn’t realize that they _actually_ happened… in real life,” Patrick admitted with a sheepish smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. David smirked and took a second to imagine Patrick watching _Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2._ He could give a fumbling Alexis Bledel a run for her money.

“I like how uncomfortable this is making you,” David said, reveling in the blush that started high on Patrick’s cheeks and traveled all the way down his neck, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. The glint in his eye that appeared when he teased David was gone, replaced by another kind of sparkle. He couldn’t quite look up from where his hands toyed with a piece of charcoal, making his fingertips black with dust.

“Okay, David,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes. He still didn’t look up.

“No really, you are very out of your element. It’s… _sweet_.”

“Why don’t you try taking a business class, David? I’d love to see _you_ out of your element.” Patrick had finally managed to look at David, some of his confidence returning.

“You’re lashing out. Is it because Jake’s naked body intimidates you?” David asked, turning towards his pad of paper and looking up at Jake. He made a few quick marks with his charcoal.

“Just trying to level the playing field.” Patrick said, dragging his charcoal across his paper in a clumsy stroke.

“I don’t know what that means. I failed gym.” David did not like the commonality of sports metaphors and he refused to learn what they meant on principal.

“What? How did you fail _gym_ , David?” Patrick once again sounded like himself, earlier discomfort forgotten in the pleasure of teasing David.

“I didn’t go to class. And, as it turns out, sleeping with the Professor doesn’t always get you an A.” It’s not like he was proud of it. He knew it was skeevy, but at least he could joke about it. This had happened at Elmdale Community College, where they required a physical education credit. The sex had sucked and David had to retake the class anyway. So he had technically also _passed_ gym, but it didn’t seem like the time to mention that.

“You have a very rich sexual history and I feel like I’m learning a lot about it today.” David couldn’t tell if Patrick was amused or uncomfortable. David could probably filter himself better, but if Patrick were going to judge him, he’d prefer to find that out sooner rather than later.

“Mm, yes well… pay attention. There will be a quiz.”

“I don’t think I could _not_ pay attention to you, David.” There was a fondness to Patrick’s voice that David had not been expecting to hear. So… not disappointed then?

“Yes, well I’m a very interesting person. I’ve got lots of juicy mistakes you can judge me for.” He tried to breeze right past the sentimentality. He wasn’t ready for _that_ yet.

“I’m not judging you David, I promise. I just worry that I’m not as _interesting_ as you are.” Patrick said, and David thought he meant it. Couldn’t he tell how interested David was? Oh, this was getting uncomfortable again.

“So, uh,” David said, clearing his throat. “I guess you’ve never slept with a teacher before, then.”

“No, David, I’ve never slept with a _teacher_. Nor with a model, for that matter,” He said, gesturing towards Jake with his stub of charcoal. He was making a mess of his paper and the evidence was all over his hands.

“Well I’m sure Jake would sleep with you, if you’re interested. I could give him your number, set that up for you?” David said casually, watching Patrick out of the corner of his eye.

“Uh… No, no, that won’t be necessary, thanks.” Patrick furrowed his eyebrows and seemed to focus extra hard of the lines he was making.

“Oh so you’re not interested in guys, then?” David said, unable to resist the opportunity.

“Jake’s not my type.”

David noticed the evasive phrasing. Patrick had not said he wasn’t interested in guys; only that he wasn’t interested in Jake. It wasn’t much to go on, but David tried to temper the thrill that thought sent through him.

David knew not to assume a person’s sexuality based on appearance, but he also knew that queer people had subtle ways to communicate with other queer people. Besides, the don’t-assume-policy was mostly for straight people anyway— _don’t assume everyone you meet is straight._ Queer people had to make assumptions, judgments, if only to keep themselves safe. There were certain ways queer people communicated in order to find friends or lovers without outing themselves to straight people. David had gotten very good at reading these cues. It was either learn the language or risk getting punched in the face every time he unwittingly hit on a straight guy.

Not denying you’re gay when you are given the opportunity to, in David’s experience, was a cue. But it was a small, almost-nothing cue in a sea of cues that pointed to Patrick being straight. Business major, baseball player, mid-range denim and sensible button-up shirts. But, still…

David was about to ask what Patrick’s type _was_ , when the professor came around to check their sketches.

“Patrick, be careful with these lines here… try to look past what you _think_ you see…” She said, taking Patrick’s charcoal and making a few loose marks on his paper. Patrick nodded and tried to make adjustments, but David could tell he had no idea what he was doing. It was cute.

By the time the professor walked away, the moment was gone.

They sat in silence while they worked on their messy gesture drawings and David thought about what to say. David wanted to ask again, he wanted to say _Patrick are you or are you not romantically and/or sexually interested in men and when I say men I really just mean me_ but he had already asked once and Patrick had brushed him off. He couldn’t bring himself to ask again. That would make him seem too… invested. It would probably scare Patrick off. At least not knowing meant David could pretend that this was _something_ for a little bit longer.

“So—“ David began.

“You have—“ Patrick said at the same time, leaning towards David, hand moving towards his face.

“What?” David asked, leaning away from Patrick and adamantly ignoring the way his heart began to beat faster.

“You have—you have charcoal on your face,” Patrick said, which was weird because David was actually very good about not touching his face. But Patrick leaned in anyway and swiped his thumb across David’s cheek. David held his breath and tried not to chase Patrick’s touch when he pulled his hand back.

“Oh,” Patrick laughed, “I actually, uh, I actually made it worse.” He showed David his black thumb. David rolled his eyes and reached into his bag for the compact mirror he kept there. When he opened it, he saw a huge black smudge across his cheek.

“Great, I look like some sort of sports man,” David said. Patrick smiled wide and leaned in again. He swiped his thumb across David’s other cheek.

“To complete the look,” Patrick said, shrugging one shoulder. David would have been appalled if anyone else had done what Patrick just did. David didn’t like to be dirty and he took very good care of his skin. But he felt no anger towards Patrick… just… a warmth in his stomach. Patrick was flirting with him, he realized. He just didn’t know if Patrick knew he was doing it.

They sat there in silence, just smirking at each other. The glint in Patrick’s eyes had returned, full force. David watched as a soft blush appeared on Patrick’s face. He dropped his gaze a second later.

“Sorry,” he began, “I’ll, uh, get you something to wipe your face.” Patrick got up and headed for the sink. He returned a second later with a damp paper towel. He raised his hand towards David’s face, like he was going to clean it for him. David tensed, and Patrick must have seen, because he hesitated before handing the paper towel to David instead.

“Thanks,” David said, turning away from Patrick as he began to wipe at his face. He’d need to do a facemask later to be truly sure his skin wouldn’t suffer, but he wasn’t mad. The entire situation made him giddy honestly. It’d been such a long time since David had flirted with someone is such a roundabout way. His usual methods were much more direct: _can I buy you a drink, do you want to get out of here, hey I think you’re hot do you want to have sex—_ all super effective. But what he was doing with Patrick was different. He didn’t want to sleep with Patrick—well, he did, but he also _liked_ Patrick. In fact, he’d be happy to just be friends with Patrick, if that’s what he thought Patrick wanted.

That’s not what he thought Patrick wanted. But David was going to let Patrick work that out for himself.

They sat mostly in silence for the rest of class, Patrick focused on his sketches. Patrick wasn’t a great artist, David noticed, and he wanted to tease him for his sketches being predominantly waist-up, but he refrained. They had that comfortable silence thing going, and this way David could look at Patrick as much as he wanted without getting caught. Well, he was caught a few times, but it was okay because it meant that Patrick was also looking at him.

Three hours went by too fast, apparently, because class was over before David had enough time to memorize the exact arrangement of freckles on Patrick’s neck. He cleared his throat when Patrick caught him looking.

“Um, I guess I’ll see you on Tuesday then,” He said, after they’d both cleaned up and made for the door. They stood just outside the classroom. Patrick looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself. He shook his head instead. David was disappointed.

“Have a good weekend, David,” Patrick said, and David thought he had never wanted a weekend less.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Patrick/David shenanigans this chapter, sorry! Will try to get the next chapter up soon to make up for it!
> 
> Big thanks to everyone who has read and commented so far! You guys are the best!
> 
> As always, I'm hagface on tumblr if you want to say hi!

Patrick had a lot of thoughts fighting for a prominent spot in his mind. David. David and Jake. The whole Jake situation, for that matter. He had _not_ been expecting that, and he felt like a fool for being so obviously naïve. It’s not like he had never seen a naked man before—he’d spent a lot of time in locker rooms. But he’d never been in a room with a naked man and been allowed—no, _expected_ —to look. Really, he had just been caught off guard. He had been embarrassed, and worse was that David was there to witness the whole thing.

David was so… _experienced_ , Patrick supposed. He was so casual about sex and so comfortable with the naked man standing in front of them. Other than their _history_ , David hadn’t seemed to care at all. Patrick had wanted David to think he was cool… or not so innocent, anyway. But truthfully, Patrick _was_ kind of innocent. Or rather, inexperienced. He didn’t like that David might think less of him for that. Would he? He had teased Patrick, but that had seemed more charming than malicious.

And then there was the part when David had asked, _actually asked_ , if Patrick was interested in guys. And Patrick had deflected. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to say _yes, I’m gay_.

Because, well, _was he_? How could he know for sure? And what would have happened if he _had_ said it? Would David have asked him out? Or was he serious about giving his number to Jake? Should seeing Jake naked have cleared things up for Patrick?

Patrick hadn’t technically lied though. Jake _wasn’t_ his type. He was handsome, sure. He had a great body. But he didn’t want to sleep with Jake. Did that mean he _wasn’t_ gay? But he _did_ like David… He thought about him almost non-stop since they met on Tuesday. So did that mean he _was_ gay? He had felt so unsettled in himself for so long. Could this be why? Had he been living his entire life as someone else? He had never felt so confused, and yet, so close to figuring everything out. Like maybe, finally, he had all the pieces; he just needed to fit them together.

He _did_ know that he liked being around David. He liked it so much he had almost asked David to hang out. It wasn’t a big deal, really. _Hey, David, do you want to hang out this weekend? Hey David, do you want to grab a bite to eat? Coffee? Watch a movie? Make out on my bed?_

Okay, so maybe it was a big deal. Being around David felt… dangerous. Patrick wanted to understand these feelings—understand himself—better, before crossing that line with David. Assuming David wanted to cross that line, too. Which was unlikely, since Patrick had embarrassed himself.

Right now David was just a friend from class. An acquaintance, really. _A very handsome acquaintance_. As long as Patrick kept his interactions with David contained to a classroom, he could control himself.

Though he _had_ lost a bit of that control today.

David had _not_ had charcoal on his face—not until Patrick put it there, anyway. They had just been sitting there in silence and it was comfortable and Patrick felt good around David. David looked so serious when he was drawing—really intense and focused. Patrick liked people who cared about things, and David obviously cared about art. Watching David laugh and smirk and tease sent thrills up Patrick’s spine. Watching David so consumed with something, so thoughtful… sent another kind of thrill through Patrick. He’d suddenly had the overwhelming need to touch David.

The whole ordeal was… well, it was flirty, wasn’t it? And the way David had looked at him afterward, like he was shocked but also kind of thrilled? Patrick wanted to know what else he could do to thrill David.

_So_ keeping things contained to school, to class, was smart for now. He didn’t want to do anything he wasn’t ready for. Or to lead David on. What if these feelings were just… a fluke? He hated to think it, but what if it _was_ just a phase? Or if these feelings just turned out to be friendly feelings? He would hate to hurt David, or wreck their burgeoning friendship over nothing.

David had had a lot of unhealthy relationships, as Patrick had learned today, and they had left him a little tender. He didn’t want to become the lead in one of David’s stories. He could hear it now: _There was this one guy in college who thought he might be gay. Until we actually kissed. Yep, scared that one straight! I think he’s married with 7 kids now._

Patrick was so glad he had therapy today.

* * *

“I think I’m gay,” Patrick said, upon entering his therapist’s office.

“Why don’t you have a seat,” She said, and Patrick moved to sit on the big couch across from her. “How were your holidays?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I think I’m _gay_ ,” he repeated.

“Okay. That’s great, Patrick.”

“Great? What do you mean, great? It’s—“ Patrick didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Was it great? It was a lot, is what it was. Unexpected, overwhelming, all consuming. It was ruining his life, is what it was. It was the absolute only thing he could think about. Other than David, of course, but he figured those things were at least related. Was it great? It _could_ be great.

“So you’re struggling with this, then?” She asked.

“Yes! I’m struggling! Does it seem like I’m having an easy time? I’m—it’s not… I mean, I’m not homophobic! That’s not the problem—I’m just, I’m unsure! It’s new,” Patrick said, struggling with every word.

“Well, you know you don’t have to label yourself.”

“I don’t?”

“Of course not. You can take your time with this. You said so yourself, it’s new. Give these feelings a little time to breath.”

“But…” Patrick didn’t want to give them time.

“But?” She prompted.

“I just feel like I don’t know myself. And it would be easier… it would explain things with Rachel, you know. It would just be such a relief to know _why_ things never worked out. And… there’s this guy and I just feel like…” Patrick sighed. He hadn’t really meant to bring up David. His thoughts just always came back to him, somehow.

“A guy? Do you want to talk about him?”

“A friend, but…” Patrick was hoping she’d read his mind and they wouldn’t have to actually continue talking. But she stayed silent, her patience urging him to continue. “I think I like him… Like, a crush. I think I have a crush on him.”

“You _think_ you have a crush?” She asked pointedly, but also judgment free.

“Well, I’m realizing I’ve never really had one before. It didn’t feel this way with Rachel. Or anyone else.” Patrick cringed at how pathetic that sounded. He was nearly 21 and he’d never had a crush before? “But it could also be like a friend crush, right? People get those, don’t they?”

“Sure,” She said.

“Can’t you offer me anything more than ‘sure’? I’m desperate, here,” Patrick said.

“Look Patrick, if you think this is a crush, then it’s okay to call it a crush. You don’t have to keep talking yourself out of it. There’s no shame here.”

“Okay but what if it’s not a crush?”

“Then it’s not, and that’s okay too. But what makes you think it’s _not_?” Patrick didn’t know how to answer that. He’d questioned whether or not it was a crush since the very moment the word ‘crush’ had appeared in his brain. He didn’t know if he was allowed to call it a crush. He felt like maybe he needed permission from the Gay Gods or something. He was very unsure about this entire thing and that made him a little scared.

The facts were the facts. He liked David. He liked being around David. He thought David was handsome. He thought he’d like to kiss David. But hadn’t he also thought that kissing Rachel would be nice? He didn’t want kissing David to be disappointing the way kissing Rachel was.

And maybe that’s why he was so reluctant to admit this was definitely a crush? To admit he was gay? He didn’t want to get his hopes up, only to feel disappointed again.

They went on like that for the next hour, Patrick talking himself in circles and his therapist listening.

“You know, your sexuality doesn’t have to be worked out in one afternoon. Give yourself time to sit with this, to think about it. In time these things won’t weigh so heavily on you. All these questions you have are very normal,” She said when time was up.

He’d definitely be keeping his weekly Thursday appointments.

So Patrick left with fewer answers than he’d had before, but also feeling a little better. His therapist was right. If he was gay, he was gay. If he wasn’t, he wasn’t. There’s no rush.

Patrick was suddenly grateful for the weekend. Maybe a few days away from David would clear things up. He had become a very big presence in Patrick’s mind in the last few days and he thought it’d be good to set that aside. He had a lot to occupy his mind this weekend anyway—some schoolwork to get ahead on, some friends to catch up with, a party on Saturday.

He’d be fine.

* * *

He was not fine.

Patrick felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin. He spent so much time at the gym on Friday, trying to get rid of nervous energy, he thought for sure his muscles would turn to goo. He was on edge all the time now. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but he felt a constant anticipation humming underneath his skin. He tried not to think of David, he tried not to think about being gay, he tried to focus on other things, but he could only do schoolwork for so long.

By noon on Saturday, he had already gotten ahead in two classes and gone for a run. He had hours to kill before he was supposed to meet up with his friends. He tried to take a nap, but that just left him alone with his thoughts, so he nixed that idea. He tried to watch TV, which worked for a while, but then there were two boys kissing on his screen and he had to turn it off.

He chipped away at the hours this way, from one useless activity to the next. He even went for a second run. He finally left his dorm around 7, to meet his friends at the local diner—it wasn’t very good but it was food they didn’t have to make themselves. And it was cheap.

Underneath every conversation he had with his friends, sat a burning desire to tell them. To ask them. To say, _hey I think I’m gay_ or _hey, have you ever thought you might be gay_ or _have you ever had a crush on a guy?_ But the fear that they would judge him or reject him kept him silent.

They talked about school and Patrick wanted to tell them about his art class. He didn’t. They talked about sports and Patrick wanted to tell them how David had failed gym. He didn’t. They talked about news and that was mostly safe.

Patrick and his friends arrived at the party around 8:30—pretty early, but there were plenty of people already there. Patrick recognized some people from baseball, some from classes. He made small talk with some classmates before finding his friends again. They hung out for a while by the drinks before everyone wandered off to do their own thing.

Ever since his potential epiphany, Patrick was hyper aware of other people. Always assessing them… for what? Evidence of gayness? Was a gaydar a real thing? Or was that a stereotype? He didn’t know, but that didn’t stop him from hoping some kind of alarm would go off in his head when he checked someone out.

He was having a hard time recognizing if he was attracted to people or if he just thought they were pretty. Like some of the guys on his team were obviously handsome but he didn’t want to… do anything with them. Did that mean he wasn’t gay? Or was his crush on David just preventing him from seeing other options?

Maybe if he knew for a fact someone was gay he would feel differently. Someone at this party had to be gay, right? Like, statistically speaking?

He wandered through the house with a beer in his hand, trying to casually assess people. It wasn’t easy. There were so many people and they were all over each other. There were a couple of girls who looked pretty chummy, but Patrick couldn’t be sure it was more than just drunken friendliness. A couple of friends stopped him to talk, but gave up when they realized how distracted he was.

He was working on his second beer when he noticed a guy with a rainbow shirt, standing in a group. Did that mean he was gay? Patrick felt something flutter in his stomach. Did straight people who weren’t ten-year-old girls wear rainbow things? He supposed they could, but…

Should he get something rainbow? To… what? Signal to other people that he might be potentially considering the fact that he could be gay? Maybe? God, he was being dumb and he knew he was being dumb but he couldn’t _stop being dumb._ Why was he acting like this?

His therapist had said he didn’t need to figure this all out immediately and he knew she was right but that didn’t actually stop him from wanting to figure it all out. Immediately. This felt big to Patrick, like it could be the piece of himself that he’d been missing. He felt embarrassed to be having this crisis in college. Didn’t most people do this in high school? He felt ashamed that _high schoolers_ knew themselves better than Patrick did.

He was going to talk to him. The guy with the rainbow shirt.

People did that at parties. Just talked to people they didn’t know. That was normal behavior. Patrick had done it before so he didn’t know why he suddenly doubted everything. He’d talked to gay people before, other than David, right? He wracked his brain. He must know more gay people. A lot of people were gay…

He refused to crash and burn in front of a crowd so he just... hung out. Wandered around a bit, always watching the rainbow shirt out of the corner of his eye, waiting until he was alone. God, he was turning into a creep! Patrick Brewer was _that_ guy. Just because he wasn’t stalking women didn’t mean he wasn’t some sort of predator. _Fuck._

Patrick was so busy being consumed by some sort of vortex of self-hatred that he almost missed when the rainbow shirt left his friends and headed for the kitchen. Patrick followed casually, emptying his beer into a nearby plant so as to make his cover more believable. 

The guy stood at the kitchen counter, mixing himself a drink. Patrick grabbed another beer and went to the counter where the bottle opener was. He fiddled with it for a second while he tried to steady his breathing. He was about to say something, like _hey_ or _nice shirt_ , when:

“You’re not as discrete as you think you are,” the guy said, looking at Patrick with a coy smile.

“Uh, what?” Patrick asked. _Good, Patrick, play dumb. It should be easy for you._

“My friends told me you’ve been watching me all night.” _Fuck._ Patrick could feel his face heating up and hoped he was already rosy from drinking.

“Uh.” Patrick looked down at his beer, wishing he could choke on it.

“Yeah, they figured something was up after the fourth time you walked by our group,” he said, adding a handful of ice to his drink. He watched Patrick out of the corner of his eye.

“That’s embarrassing,” Patrick said, biting his lip. He could just walk away; let this disaster of a conversation die in the middle of the kitchen. He stayed.

“So is this a hate crime or are you trying to flirt? You’re not really succeeding at either, I’m afraid,” The guy said, still smiling. Patrick looked at him, trying to see more than just the rainbow shirt that caught his attention. And he was cute, Patrick realized. His heartbeat picked up. He could do this.

“Trying to flirt, I think,” Patrick finally said, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck. He knew it made his arms look good. When the guy’s eyes tracked his movement, he knew it worked. He smiled with, what he hoped, was boyish charm.

“Ah, well go ahead then,” the guy said, open palms gesturing towards Patrick.

“What?” Patrick asked.

“Flirt with me,” he said, and the confidence in his voice kind of reminded him of David.

“Oh, uh. Really?” Patrick wished he had that kind of confidence.

“Yeah, let’s see what you got.”

“Okay, um. I like your shirt.” At least it was true. Patrick wished, not for the first time, that he had more experience flirting with guys. He had flirted with David, but did it count if the other guy hadn’t realized you were flirting? Plus, talking to David, teasing David, came naturally to Patrick. He couldn’t pick up strangers. Even when he thought he was straight, he’d had trouble. Rachel had been the one to make the first move.

“Wow, I’m swooning,” Rainbow shirt said, eyes crinkling.

“Sorry. I’m new at this,” Patrick admitted, reluctantly.

“Flirting?”

“Flirting with guys,” Patrick said, taking a sip of his beer to try to settle the tremors those words sent through him. This guy was only the second person he had (maybe) come out to. And Patrick didn’t even know his name. 

“Oh, that’s a lot,” The guy’s smile didn’t falter, but he looked at Patrick with kinder eyes.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I think you’re doing _great_ ,” he said.

“You’re a rotten liar,” Patrick said, and felt a hint of that teasing spark he got when he talked with David.

“Okay, so you’re a shitty flirt. Think you’re any better at _kissing_ guys?” The guy smirked and Patrick looked at his mouth. His face was burning and he knew alcohol had nothing to do with it. Was this going to happen? Was this his first kiss with a guy? The rate at which his heart was beating was concerning.

He could swear they were both leaning in, when—

“Brewer!” His entire _gaggle_ of friends shouted as they ambushed him. Patrick didn’t know if he was annoyed at being interrupted or deeply, deeply relieved. Was it possible to be both? His buddies crowded around him, shouting and cheering. While Patrick had been trying to flirt, they’d managed to do some serious drinking. Though Patrick tried to ignore them, wanted to ignore them, they made it impossible. He couldn’t bring himself to follow rainbow shirt as he backed out of the kitchen. He did manage to make eye contact and give him an apologetic smile though. Rainbow shirt winked at him before turning around.

And just like that, Patrick’s chance to kiss a guy was gone. He didn’t think he’d find another opportunity. Not tonight, anyway. It bummed him out. He was hoping for some confirmation that he way gay. Some concrete proof. Were the butterflies he’d felt when he attempted to flirt, enough? He’d been more excited in that moment before the almost-kiss than he had every time he’d kissed Rachel. Was that enough? Was his crush on David enough?

_Enough for who?_ Patrick was the only one asking these questions, the only one demanding proof. Couldn’t he just… feel the way he felt? Wasn’t _that_ enough? For the first time he thought that maybe it was.

A party is only fun for so long. Realizing he wasn’t going to have a big gay awakening tonight left Patrick feeling exhausted. He had spent the entire day waiting to leave his dorm, now he wanted nothing more than to return to it. He was sufficiently buzzed; falling asleep shouldn’t be a problem.

He managed to escape his friends with only minor resistance. They were too many drinks in to actually mind. On his way out, Patrick couldn’t help but search the crowds for a rainbow shirt, but there was nothing. He thought that maybe it was for the best.

He didn’t really want to kiss a stranger anyway.

* * *

Patrick climbed in to his bed, much too late for his normal routine and much too early for a Saturday night. Sunday, if it was anything like the rest of this weekend, might just be the longest day of his life.

He fell asleep fast, the buzz of alcohol lowering his defenses. He dreamed of dark eyes and a charcoal-smudged face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've all been so kind and supportive! I really appreciate it!
> 
> The next chapter will likely not be posted until next weekend! I want to take some time to plan this story a little bit because as of right now I'm pretty much winging it! So thanks for your patience!
> 
> As always, I'm hagface on tumblr and you're more than welcome to come say hi!

“Have a good weekend, David,” Patrick had said.

David did _not_ have a good weekend. Not only had Stevie canceled their Friday night wine and movie date—it had happened nearly every week since they had known each other—to go on a _date_ date with Jake of all people, but now that all students were back on campus, the privacy that David had come to cherish in the art studios was his no more. Of course there was room for him—there was always _room_ , the studios were fairly large—but David had gotten used to taking up as much space as he wanted, blasting his own _very specific_ music, and yes, often singing out loud to said music. He was not about to do any of that with an audience. Thanks, but no thanks.

As such, David’s weekend passed at a near glacial speed, loneliness and frustration his only company.

David thought about Patrick a lot. It bothered him that he couldn’t control these thoughts. They’d pop up without warning, vibrant and distracting. Every time he washed his face he remembered Patrick’s thumb swiping across his cheek. When he ate breakfast, he wondered what kind of food Patrick liked. When he read a novel, he imagined Patrick as the love interest.

David had always been the type to become consumed by his crushes—they typically burned bright and faded fast. But this felt different. He liked Patrick—wanted a friendship with him even if he couldn’t have a romance (he really wanted a romance though—like a rom-com level romance, with intimate moments and big gestures). Patrick seemed like he had a good heart, and David hadn’t met anyone like that in a very long time. In fact, he wasn’t sure he deserved to meet anyone like that. But David was selfish, he wanted it whether he deserved it or not. David’s inability to regulate his emotions made him sure that he would break his own heart before Patrick ever got the chance.

Would he give Patrick the chance?

David tried not to wallow the entire weekend. He spent some time at the park or on campus, sketching people and trees, wildlife. He took a yoga class—one of the slow, meditative ones, where sweating wasn’t mandatory. He begged Stevie to go to a party with him on Saturday, but she had to work late and David didn’t want to go alone, so he was left to watch a movie by himself for the second night in a row. Thanks, Stevie. At least wine was reliable.

The weekend finally ended and David was looking forward to distracting himself with schoolwork once more. He really did love art—making it and studying it. Even a history lesson was bearable when it was told through the kind of artwork being made at the time. But something had changed. Being in the art building felt different than it had before. David knew Patrick only took one class, and likely wouldn’t spend much time hanging around the building otherwise, but just the possibility… the small chance that David could round a corner and see Patrick standing there made David hyper aware of his surroundings.

Students were always coming in and out of the studio classrooms and every time a door opened, David noticed. Of course it was never Patrick, but David couldn’t stop himself from looking anyway. Like maybe Patrick had decided that a Monday afternoon was as good a time as any to interrupt a class he wasn’t in. In every fantasy David allowed himself, Patrick would burst through the door, looking for him… Maybe sweating a bit, like he had been on that first day… Their eyes would meet and Patrick would stride confidently across the room. He’d knock David’s palette out of his hands—the mess it would make didn’t matter in a fantasy—and he’d grip David by the shoulders, maybe run his hands down his chest to settle on his waist and—

Nope. _No._ David wouldn’t let the fantasy go farther than that—okay, he’d let it go farther _once_ but he blamed that entirely on the wine (it was probably good that Stevie had baled on him that night; he doubted he’d have been able to stop himself from gushing about Patrick, and that kind of information was dangerous in Stevie’s hands). If he indulged himself too often he’d never be able to look Patrick in the eye. He’d never felt like he had to be so careful around someone before, like he needed their permission to daydream. Typically by this point, not only would David have fantasized about fucking someone, he’d have actually done it too.

If it were anyone else, he’d have just gone for it. He’d been rejected before, often enough, and it hadn’t mattered. For every rejection he got, there were at least two people to help him forget. But a rejection from Patrick would land a lot harder and settle a lot deeper. Not just because he liked Patrick and because Patrick was a good person, but because a rejection from Patrick would just confirm every bad thought David had ever had about himself.

Maybe that was the scariest thing about Patrick. If good people like Patrick existed, why hadn’t David ever dated one? Hell, why hadn’t he ever _met_ one? And why, of all the people in the world, did he think _he_ deserved someone like that? Just because he wanted it? The universe was not that generous.

Patrick was cute, and Patrick was kind, and smart, and funny. But more so, he represented everything David wanted in a partner, and everything he would likely never have.

Yes, schoolwork was very distracting. Maybe David should have chosen a major that didn’t allow so much time for introspection, like molecular biology or math. But biology was only interesting when it was about sex and numbers made David dizzy.

Tuesday was a disaster before David even got to see Patrick.

Upon leaving his bedroom, David was assaulted—yes _assaulted_ —by the sight of Jake sleeping on his couch. As if his mere presence wasn’t bad enough, he had also used David’s alpaca throw blanket to cover his likely naked body. He planned to burn it and force Stevie to buy him a new one. Seeing Jake in class was one thing—David could detach enough to focus on drawing. But here, in his own apartment after having done _god knows what_ with his roommate, obviously late into the night, when she had promised to keep Jake away… And why exactly had he been banished to the couch? Couldn’t she contain her fornication to her own damn bedroom?

Oh, Stevie was going to get an earful later.

David was already anxious this morning. He was excited to see Patrick, maybe terrified too, and honestly a little nauseous. He’d thought seriously about cutting class. Wouldn’t that be the healthy thing to do? Just cut off all contact with Patrick. Like weaning yourself off a drug. If he stayed away, the feelings would just stop, right? And would Patrick notice, if David wasn’t there? Would he miss him? The thought was tempting.

But in the end, David wanted to see Patrick. And because David was David, he couldn’t actually deny himself the things he wanted.

So there were already a lot of feelings bubbling inside David. To see Jake a mere three minutes after opening his eyes… David had never rushed through his morning routine so fast, or so quietly. He skipped steps 3 through 6 of his nine-step skin care routine. He wanted to get out of his apartment as fast as possible and without waking anyone up.

Because he had the time, he stopped at the slightly out-of-the-way-but-completely-worth-it coffee shop and ordered a _large_ caramel macchiato (skim milk, two sweeteners, and a sprinkle of cocoa powder, _if_ they had it). Today he deserved it. As he stood in line, David was suddenly glad he didn’t know what kind of coffee Patrick liked. He didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from bringing Patrick something, and _that_ would be weird. They were not on that level yet.

But how nice it would be, to hand Patrick a warm drink, let their fingers brush together accidentally… the heat of contact rivaling that of the paper cup…

David was nearly late to class (nearly late meant that he was still five minutes early) and he was stressing about it. Only caffeine was worth sacrificing his routines for. When he walked in and saw Patrick sitting in their usual spot, David suddenly felt much better about the day. Patrick looked up, saw David and smiled. David felt a flutter in his stomach and every uneasy thought he’d had that morning melted away. There was only this moment, Patrick happy to see him.

_Patrick_ happy to see _him._

“Hi,” David said, sitting down. Patrick had saved David’s favorite chair for him. That, or everyone knew David had claimed that chair and so left it for him, but David let himself believe Patrick had something to do with it.

“You’re late,” he said, and _oh_ , David had missed being teased by him.

“I had a very tumultuous morning,” David said.

“Tumultuous, huh? Do you want to talk about it?” Patrick asked, sincere even when he was making fun of David’s vocabulary.

“No I do not. And I am not late! There’s still five minutes until class starts,” David said, full dramatics. He gave Patrick his full range of facial expressions, eyebrow acrobatics and all.

“Well, it’s the first time I’ve gotten here before you.” Patrick looked smug. It was, unfortunately, adorable.

“Yes, what did you do? Cut your last class?” David was obviously kidding, but when Patrick blushed he thought he might be right. _No way_. Before David could tease Patrick about cutting class to make it here early _to see David_ , Patrick changed the subject.

“How was your weekend?” He said.

“Long,” David answered. He let it sit for a second before he asked, “how was yours?”

“Long,” Patrick agreed, and David had to bite his lip to stop himself from asking _was it long because you missed me?_ It was part flirty reflex and part genuine question. He loved to tease Patrick but… he didn’t want to push him or make him actually uncomfortable. If David turned things too flirty too fast, he could scare him away.

They’d been quiet for a minute now, just sitting in each other’s presence. David took a sip of his coffee. Patrick cleared his throat.

“So even with your _tumultuous_ morning, you still had time to stop for a coffee?” He asked, pesky little gnat that he was.

“If you let me know what you like, I’ll bring you something next time.” David offered, only partially influenced by his earlier fantasy.

“Okay, David,” Patrick said, and he leaned a little closer before saying, “I’ll let you know what I like.” There was a glimmer in his eye. He said it so casually that it didn’t sound like a line, but _it was a line_. David had to suppress a shiver. He marveled at Patrick’s ability to go from shy to bold in under six seconds.

David could be bold.

He gave Patrick one of his looks—one of his expertly crafted, peer-reviewed, tested and approved _, looks_. David looked directly into Patrick’s eyes, held them for a beat, and then dropped his gaze to Patrick’s mouth. He wanted Patrick to know exactly what he was doing. And from the way Patrick swallowed, it worked.

“What do you like, Patrick?” David said, voice low and airy. His bedroom voice.

“Tea,” Patrick said suddenly, turning away. “I like tea.”

_And from bold to shy in even less_ , David thought.

“Okay,” he said, voice returning to normal. “Tea it is.”

They settled into silence while they waited for class to begin. David’s anxiety was back. He feared he had crossed a line and left Patrick embarrassed or possibly angry. David thought he’d been following Patrick’s lead, but Patrick didn’t seem to know where he was going. Now they were both a little lost.

“Will Jake be back today?” Patrick asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Considering he was asleep on my couch when I left this morning, I doubt it.” David tried to mask his irritation at the unpleasant memory.

“Asleep on your… _oh_ ,” Patrick said and abruptly turned away again.

“No, no! Oh my god, no. He’s uh... sleeping with my roommate,” David reluctantly admitted, desperate for some semblance of normalcy between them.

“Your roommate… The one you also slept with?” Patrick said.

“I thought you weren’t going to judge me.” David said, regretting ever sharing _that_ tidbit with Patrick. He knew he had a habit of making a mess of things, but he didn’t like to be reminded of it. Or judged for it. Though, he was the one who’d over shared in the first place, so could he really blame Patrick for reacting that way?

David didn’t feel guilty or gross for having had a lot of sex. He felt ashamed of some of the people he’d had sex with, and maybe shame for some of the reasons, but generally he just enjoyed sex. He craved companionship and if he had to get it from fifty different people, rather than once steady partner, then so be it.

“No, David, I’m sorry. I’m not judging you, I’m not,” Patrick said, a bit frantic. His eyes were wide and David thought of the puppy Alexis had for two months when they were kids. Then he touched David’s arm, squeezed it gently, and David was forced to believe him. He looked like he wanted to say more, but class had started and the professor cut him off.

“So we couldn’t get a model for today, unfortunately. What we will be doing instead is partnering up for some portrait studies! So pick a classmate and get started,” She said. “If you don’t have a partner, or would rather work alone, you can do a self-portrait. We have some mirrors towards the front of the class.”

“Do you want to—“ Patrick began.

“Will you—“ David said at the same time.

“Yes,” Patrick said, and let out a sheepish laugh. “I’m not very good though, so don’t be insulted when your portrait turns out looking like a Picasso.”

“Picasso was a misogynist,” David said.

“That’s not the point, David,” Patrick replied.

“That’s always the point, Patrick,” David said and this time Patrick didn’t argue.

They set up their easels to face one another. Though this meant that they’d be sitting slightly farther apart, and that David could no longer smell Patrick’s shampoo, it also meant that David had a blissful _three hours_ to stare directly at Patrick. Secret glances were no longer sustainable. Now David had been given the opportunity to memorize Patrick Brewer’s face. And what a gift _that_ was.

They were quiet as they each set up their materials. David lamented the fact that they were not yet painting—rendering Patrick in oil paints would be a religious experience, to capture the pink of his lips, the sparkle in his eyes, the ochre highlight of his hair…

For today, though, graphite would have to suffice.

They both looked up at each other, ready to begin. Until that moment, David had not thought, had not considered, that Patrick would also be observing him. He grew suddenly self-conscious. David had devoted hours to staring at himself in the mirror; he could admit he was a vain creature. He also knew the longer he stared at his face, the less pretty he became. He did not want Patrick to spend the next three hours picking out his flaws. He was maybe grateful that Patrick was not a skilled artist, for if his portrait turned out ugly, he could blame it on lack of ability and nothing more.

These thoughts led David to doubt his own artistic skill. He knew he had talent, but what if he couldn’t draw Patrick to his liking? What if Patrick was insulted? Or rather, what if all the affection David had for him showed through the portrait and Patrick was uncomfortable? Embarrassed?

David hesitated to start.

“You okay?” Patrick asked. David offered him a disgruntled hum in lieu of actually answering. Then he dragged his stick of graphite across the paper. He made some preliminary marks, the general shape of a head.

David and Patrick traded looks back and forth for a while. David tried to time it so that he looked at Patrick when Patrick was not looking at him. It only worked about half the time. The other half, when he looked over to find Patrick already studying him, his gaze tracking every feature of his face, left him a little bit breathless.

David tried to zone out, to force himself to see Patrick’s face as nothing more than shapes. If he could do that, he might be able to get through class without sweating through his Givenchy sweater.

Patrick’s eyes were big and bright, kind of round when he looked up at David. Though it held no relevance to the portrait David was working on, he couldn’t help but notice how pretty the color was. A warm brown, dark, but not so dark that they blended with the pupil.

_Shapes, David, they’re shapes._

He had a nice mouth. His lips, though not overly plump, looked soft. His upper lip was a bit smaller than his bottom lip. David could lose hours staring at his cupid’s bow. There was a growing list of things David wanted to do with Patrick’s mouth.

_Shapes, shapes, shapes._

David closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. All in all, Patrick had a nice mouth and it should have been easy to draw. If only he would _stop fucking smirking_.

“Stop doing that with your mouth,” David finally snapped.

“I’m sorry. What am I doing with my mouth?” Patrick said, and, like he knew exactly what he was doing, he smirked.

“That! Right there!” David said, dramatically gesturing to his entire face.

“I’m sorry you don’t like my mouth, David,” he said, forcing his features into a neutral expression. The corner of his mouth twitched and David knew he was trying not to laugh. David was fighting for his own composure.

“No, it’s… You… you have a clean mouth,” David said and it was the best he could come up with under the circumstances. It was supposed to be a friendly, not at all sexually charged compliment. What he really wanted to say was _you have a perfect mouth._

“Sorry, a clean mouth?” Patrick said, reacting exactly as someone who’d just been told they had a clean mouth would.

“Yeah. Some people have nice clean mouths,” David explained, like it was obvious, “and some people have _sloppy_ mouths.” David had kissed his fair share of sloppy mouths and Patrick’s did seem comparatively cleaner. It was maybe an unconventional compliment, but it wasn’t untrue.

“I see,” Patrick said, like he wanted David to know exactly how bizarre this conversation was but that he would pretend to follow it anyway, for David’s sake.

“I just mean it’s easy to draw. Your mouth… your face,” David said, like if he kept explaining it would alleviate any weirdness. It did not.

“Okay,” Patrick said.

David let the conversation die and Patrick made an effort to reign in his smirks. David was able to focus enough to finish drawing Patrick’s mouth. He darkened the corners and swiped his pinky along the upper lip to soften the shadows. It felt oddly intimate to David. If he couldn’t touch Patrick’s actual mouth, at least he had this.

“Um, how are you doing?” David asked, for something to say.

“Uh, not great. _You_ have a sloppy mouth,” Patrick said and David dropped his graphite on the floor. It broke.

When he looked up at Patrick, David expected to see his signature cheeky grin but was met instead with a completely neutral expression. Patrick was able to hold it for about 10 seconds, before the grin broke through. David was impressed.

He’d let Patrick win that one.

They settled into a companionable silence, and David gave up on avoiding Patrick’s gaze. Now it seemed like they were teasing each other with every look. At one point, Patrick slid his foot across the floor and knocked it into David’s. David thought about retaliating, but decided he was happier to leave his foot as it was, resting right against Patrick’s. If he were brave enough, he would run his foot up the back of Patrick’s calf, maybe under the cuff of his jeans. He knew the exact face Patrick would make, had memorized the hue of his blush. He could probably mix a pretty good approximation—titanium white, cadmium red, and the tiniest bit of Naples yellow.

He was not brave enough.

They finished their portraits with time to spare. David reluctantly allowed Patrick to see the finished result. He didn’t know what he would see in it; with any luck Patrick would be just as bad at seeing art as he was at making it.

“Wow,” he said.

“You don’t like it,” David said, tucking his fist under his chin.

“No, what? David, it’s incredible.” Patrick said, leaning in. “I don’t think my eyes are actually that big though.”

_Fuck._

“I’m not great with proportions,” David offered, before clearing his throat. “Let’s see yours.”

They moved over to Patrick’s easel. Patrick had gone overboard on the eyebrows, and though David had to admit it was a little Picasso-esque, it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. All things considered, David actually kind of liked it. He could definitely tell that Patrick had _tried_ , which was a very attractive quality. Still, it’s possible a small giggle might have escaped his mouth.

“Stop,” Patrick said, swatting his arm. “I tried, really hard.”

“Oh I know, I know you did,” David said. “It’s great. You’ve done a great job.”

“Okay David.” Patrick said, trying to end the conversation. He began to clean up, gathering materials and shoving them into his bag.

“No really, you’re a natural.” David said, not yet ready to let it go.

“Mhm.”

“I mean, call The Met,”

“Yep.”

“In fact—“

“Shut up,” Patrick said, fond but forceful, the intensity of his gaze stealing the breath from David’s lungs. They were standing a little closer than was strictly necessary. David could smell Patrick’s shampoo again. He smelled nice. He looked nice. He _was_ nice.

Patrick was _nice._

David wanted to be nice too. And maybe what was nice was not pressing this right now, just yet? Maybe nice was giving Patrick room to breath, to figure things out? Patrick had flirted with David every time they were together but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. After all, every time David had pushed him a little bit, he backed off, retreated. He was maybe unaware he was doing it, or unsure of himself. Either way, David thought Patrick deserved time to figure it out.

He took one large step back and began to gather his things. Class was just about over. They cleaned in silence—David carefully slipped his portrait into his portfolio, comforted by the fact that one version of Patrick would always be his.

“Hey, David?” Patrick said as they left the classroom. The gentleness in his voice made David pause.

“Yes?” He said.

“I want to apologize, again, for before…” Patrick said, rubbing the back of his neck. David couldn’t help but watch his arms flex as he did so. “I hope you know that I’ll never judge you for your relationships… or anything like that. That’s your business and I’m sorry if I made you feel badly about it.”

“Okay,” David said, trying to focus despite the softness of Patrick’s voice and the sincerity on his face. Very few people had ever made an effort with David. An effort to be his friend, or to make sure he knew where they stood. An effort to communicate. “Thank you, Patrick.”

“I think I’m just… a little jealous,” Patrick said and David’s heart either stopped completely or was beating too fast to feel.

“Um, jealous?” David said—or he hoped he actually said it. He was feeling a little light-headed so he wasn’t in complete control of his faculties at the moment.

“Yeah… you _know_ yourself David, you’re comfortable with who you are,” Patrick said, and David relaxed a little. _So not that kind of jealous, then_.

Patrick was only partially correct; David _did_ know himself. He’d always had a very clear idea of what he liked and disliked. He was all too aware of his many, _many_ , faults, and his strengths too. He was opinionated and very particular. Yes, David knew exactly who he was—but no, he had never been comfortable with it.

Though he suspected the things Patrick was struggling with were a good deal different from his own.

“I’m kind of going through an identity crisis at the moment,” Patrick said, an incredible amount of vulnerability in his voice. Relief too, at having said so out loud. David felt a sudden lump in his throat at having been trusted with this information. He didn’t exactly know how to be there for someone, but he thought, for Patrick at least, that he’d like to try. He touched Patrick’s arm, with just his fingertips really, hoping the gesture didn’t overwhelm him the way it did David.

“I’m here, if you’d like to talk about it,” he said.

“Thank you David. I might take you up on that,” Patrick said and he almost seemed normal again. They parted ways, but not before Patrick blessed David with one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen, a smile that was just for him.

David’s chest ached for Patrick, in more ways than one.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! This is the longest chapter so far, if that's any consolation! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting! It means a lot that you guys are enjoying what I write!

Subsequent classes passed in much the same way. They had six glorious hours a week in each other’s company, their subtle flirting infrequently punctuated by moments of boldness.

David did bring Patrick his tea, and yes, their fingers did brush when he handed it over. It was better than the fantasy. Patrick’s hands were not soft—years of sports had seen to that—but the way that he moved them was. He had a gentle touch, and when his rough fingertips brushed against David’s, he _almost_ didn’t mind that Patrick clearly didn’t moisturize.

There was so much about Patrick that was contradicting. The wicked smile he wore when he teased David was softened by the kindness his eyes. The confident way he carried himself was tempered by the flush of his cheeks. He was bold one moment, and shy the next. He soothed every insult with a compliment and all of the teasing was balanced with sincerity. Every facet of Patrick’s personality charmed David.

The second after their fingers brushed, David was already looking forward to bringing Patrick tea again next week. And perhaps, if it was in the budget, the week after that too.

So David changed his routine. At least once a week he woke up a little earlier and left his apartment a little sooner, so he could buy Patrick his tea and still make it to class on time. To walk into class and see Patrick already there, waiting for him, to see the smile on his face when David handed him his tea, to brush their hands together, all made sacrificing half an hour of sleep worth it.

Each time he touched Patrick, David wanted more.

David wasn’t really thinking when he handed Patrick the wrong drink. He had planned it that way, yes, so that they could touch again when they switched them back. It was a desperate and pathetic movie, but sometimes David was a little desperate and pathetic.

He did not think Patrick would be so quick to take a sip.

“Oh my god, David, this is disgusting,” Patrick said, his entire face pinched as if he were drinking _black coffee._

“Sorry,” David said. “That must be mine.” They switched cups and David was so distracted by Patrick’s mouth that he couldn’t enjoy their fingers brushing together for the second time. He stared at his drink, a little unsure about what to do. He should just drink it, right? It wasn’t a big deal.

“Everything, okay?” Patrick asked.

“Mm, yes. I just don’t usually share drinks with people,” David admitted, but germs were not his concern right now. Patrick’s mouth, on the other hand, was very concerning.

“But I have a clean mouth, remember? You said so yourself.”

“Did I say that? I don’t really remember,” David said, taking a sip. It was only weird if he made it weird.

“Well, I can assure you, David, that I will never take another sip of your coffee again. Not intentionally, anyway,” Patrick replied, drinking his tea as if desperate to wash down the bad taste of David’s coffee.

“So it was intentional, then.”

“Yep,” Patrick said, like he hadn’t committed a _crime._

“But I handed you the wrong drink,” David said, a little scandalized.

“You did.”

“And you _knew_ I handed you the wrong drink?”

“I did. It clearly says ‘caramel macchiato’ right there. Kind of hard to miss.” Patrick was trying very hard to hide his smile, sipping his tea to try to reset his features. David realized that this whole scenario was perfectly calculated.

“So I handed you the wrong drink and you knew I handed you the wrong drink and you took a sip anyway,” David said, trying to get a grip on the facts. Patrick loved to tease him and flirt with him and he loved it even better when he could disguise his motivations as seemingly innocent. David loved when he could prove that Patrick was _not_ innocent.

“I was curious,” Patrick admitted with a casual shrug of his shoulder.

“So your curiosity has left me with a… a _tainted_ drink. What am I gonna do now?”

“David, you’ve already taken a sip. I hardly think it’s _tainted_ ,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes.

“Okay,” David said, scornfully.

“Oh, and David?”

“What?”

"Thanks for the tea,” Patrick said, lifting his cup in acknowledgment. 

* * *

After David brought Patrick tea for the third time, Patrick started to feel guilty. David would not allow Patrick to pay him back, no matter how many times he offered. He supposed he could always ask David to stop… but he really didn’t want to. Not only was the tea delicious, but every time David walked into class with a tea for Patrick, he felt special. Knowing that David had thought of him, that he existed in David’s mind outside of class was a _good_ feeling. More often than not, it made his day. So no, he would not ask David to stop bringing him tea. He would just have to think of a way to return the favor.

When he had tasted David’s coffee, his mouth had been practically burned by the sweetness of it. David was obviously a fan of sugar. That likely meant he was also a fan of pastries. Patrick happened to have an in with a great baker.

His mom. It was his mom.

She had made the best desserts ever since Patrick was a child. She used to save all of her best baking for holidays and special occasions, but now that Patrick wasn’t living at home, she liked to send him regular care packages, often full of homemade treats. It had embarrassed him during his freshman year, but once his roommates and his buddies had actually tasted the cookies and the muffins, it became something they all looked forward to.

So when Patrick received his first care package a few weeks into the semester, he set aside some butter tarts and chocolate-chip cookies. It wasn’t until he was actually sitting in class waiting for David that he became nervous. It was unanimously agreed upon among the Brewers that Marcy made the best desserts, but David could be… particular. Patrick knew only a little bit about David’s childhood—his adventures with Alexis, his absentee parents, growing up in a mansion with a full staff of housekeepers, nannies, and chefs. David had high standards and Patrick suddenly felt like sharing his mother’s pastries was an incredibly vulnerable thing to do.

Maybe he should have just bought David a donut from the cafeteria. The quality of a manufactured dessert would not reflect poorly on his mother. Oh my god, what if David _hated_ his mother?

“Hi,” David said, just as Patrick was about to spiral. He handed him his tea, for the second time this week.

“Oh,” Patrick said. “Thank you.”

“ _Oh?_ Sorry, are you disappointed? Is tea no longer enough? Should I have brought you a bouquet? Maybe hired a _barber shop quartet_ to serenade you in the halls?” Dramatic David was one of Patrick’s favorite Davids. He laughed at the performance and felt his heart go gooey at the thought of David bringing him flowers.

“Nope, no bouquet necessary. If you’d just let me pay you back…” Despite the warmth he felt in David’s presence, Patrick still felt like the pastries might be too much.

“Patrick,” David said, exasperated, “please let me just feel like I’m doing something nice without you having to… play on a level field, or whatever.”

“Okay, David,” Patrick said, feeling, if possible, even more enamored. David went out of his way to bungle every single sports metaphor just to spite Patrick. He loved it. It left him feeling a little bolder. “I did bring something for you, to _level the playing field_ , but if you don’t want it…”

“What did you bring me?”

“I don’t know, David, I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder. This is, what? The fifth tea you’ve bought me? You must be feeling pretty good about yourself,” Patrick teased.

“I am actually, yeah.”

“I’m glad,” Patrick said, sitting back in his chair and sipping his tea. David nodded his head and watched silently.

“Okay so that’s it? Your just gonna… drink your little tea and not tell me what you brought?”

“Yep, yep that’s it. Its _great_ tea, thank you.”

“Okay, that’s fine. That’s good, I guess—“

“David,” Patrick said, already reaching into his bag. They could go on this way all day and never get to the point. He passed the Tupperware full of treats to David. “Here.”

David took the Tupperware and carefully opened it, eyeing Patrick as he did so. His entire face lit up when he saw the pastries inside.

“Are these butter tarts?” He asked.

“Yes, and chocolate chip cookies.”

“I love butter tarts,” David said, “and cookies.” He looked at Patrick like he was asking permission. Patrick nodded and David popped an entire butter tart into his mouth.

“Oh my god,” he said, mouth full. 

“Good?” Patrick asked, for clarification.

“These are the best butter tarts I’ve ever had,” David said, shoving another into his mouth. Patrick was relieved, and very, very pleased. David was opinionated and hard to please, and often unnecessarily harsh, but his approval mattered to Patrick. More so, because it was hard to earn.

“I’m glad,” Patrick said, watching in amusement as David ate another.

“My god, where did you get these? Who’s your hook-up?” David asked, holding his hand in front of his mouth so Patrick couldn’t see him chew.

“I’ll give you his number.”

“That’d be great, thank you.”

“Just to be clear, it’s, um, it’s me. I’ll give you _my_ number,” Patrick said, emboldened by David’s enthusiasm. As soon as he said it, though, he felt his face flush. He’d offered to give David his phone number. To give _a boy_ his phone number. The act itself wasn’t a big deal—people exchanged phone numbers all the time—but what it represented to Patrick—that _was_ kind of big. Even if David didn’t know that it was more than a friendly gesture, Patrick knew. And it mattered to him, right now, to feel the kind of things that he was feeling.

The context was entirely different, but it reminded him of the time he’d gone to a bar with some baseball buddies and they’d pushed him to give this girl his number. He’d felt wildly uncomfortable about the whole thing, but he’d done it anyway, just because he felt like he should. So to offer David his phone number because he liked him and would like the opportunity to talk to him more, felt honest and right in a way that no other romantic venture ever had. If they exchanged numbers, he’d be able to talk to David whenever he wanted. If David wanted. Oh god, what if David rejected him?

“Or not,” Patrick hastily added. “It’s really my mom, she made them, so… I could give you her number, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

David was smiling at him, his mouth twisted to the left, the kind of smile that told Patrick he was trying _not_ to smile. David hadn’t figured out that this face showed more joy than if he had just let himself smile in the first place. David reached into his bag and grabbed his phone. He handed it to Patrick.

“So my mom’s number then? Or…” Patrick asked, just to tease. He opened the contact form and added his information.

“Well I’m sure she’s a lovely woman, but I think having your number might be more practical? Although if your mother knows how to make a good ganache torte I may have to reconsider.”

“I will definitely ask her,” Patrick said, passing the phone back to David.

“So I assume this should only be used for pastry related inquiries?” David asked.

“Yeah, see I run an underground pastry cartel and it wouldn’t be very professional of me to use this number for, um, personal reasons so if we could keep it purely transactional that’d be great.”

“Okay,” David said. “But, um, just to be clear? You are joking? About the cartel?”

“Yes David, it was a joke. I do not operate an _underground pastry cartel_.” Patrick said, shocked to be putting those words together in a sentence.

“Okay, it’s just if you knew my sister, you’d understand why I had to ask.”

* * *

David knew that Patrick struggled with art. Charcoal was a forgiving medium; sketches were meant to be loose and messy. Oil paints, however, required more attention. Patrick had a hard time mixing the right paint colors and getting the right ratio of paint to paint thinner so that it blended nicely but didn’t drip down the canvas. He had trouble with proportions and foreshortening. Patrick had a mind for numbers and facts, not for composition and value. But Patrick was creative in his own way.

For example, he was very creative when it came to thinking of new ways to bother David.

“Hi,” David said. Under normal circumstances, David loved when Patrick got to class before him. It saved him from entertaining the lingering fear that Patrick had finally dropped the art class and David would never see him again. Yes, normally it was a treat to walk into class and see Patrick’s button-face waiting for him.

“Hi,” Patrick said in the soft, fond voice he always used to greet David. He glanced up long enough to offer David one of his best smiles, before continuing to idly scroll through his phone. David stood next to him, anxiously twisting the rings on his right hand. After a long minute, Patrick finally looked up and added, “What’s up?”

“Nothing!” David said. “Nothing, it’s just… that’s my chair.” He forced himself to smile like it wasn’t a big deal. Patrick was sitting in his chair. The same chair David had sat in _every_ class.

“Oh? You bought this chair? Like with your own money?” Patrick asked, his voice too confident for this to be anything other than another way for him to get under David’s skin.

“No of course I didn’t _buy_ that chair, it’s hideous. I was speaking about ownership in a more abstract sense of the word.” David said, hanging on to the small thread of hope he had that he might be able to get Patrick out of his chair.

“Oh, in the abstract sense of the word! Right, well in the actual, realistic sense of the word… it’s _not_ your chair.”

“It is, though,” David said, poking Patrick’s shoulder.

“You _just_ said it was ugly,” Patrick said, like that released David from any claim he may have.

“It is, but it’s also _very_ comfortable,” David said, pulling his top lip into his mouth. The longer this conversation went on, the less hope he had.

“You are right about that,” Patrick said, sitting back in the chair and crossing his arms. Irritated as he was, David still took a moment to admire the way Patrick’s arms flexed when he crossed them.

“So I can have my chair back, then?” he asked.

“I don’t think we’ve established that it’s your chair,” Patrick said, furrowing his brows and cocking his head.

“But you know I sit in this chair every class.” David’s voice was getting steadily squeakier as his list of arguments dwindled.

“You think I notice what chair you sit in?” Patrick asked, like the idea was absurd. David _did_ think that Patrick had noticed, but he wasn’t about to say so out loud.

“Changing the seating arrangements this fair into the semester is just… it’s incorrect.”

“Is it? I must have skipped that part of the Student Code of Conduct,” Patrick said.

“Okay, so you’re just going to… make me sit on one of these metal stools, then?” David gestured to the collection of rusted and unbalanced stools that littered the classroom. “I could throw out my back.”

“David, you are 20 years old, I think you’ll be okay.”

“I’m actually almost 21, so I could really, you know, get hurt in my old age.”

“Yeah you’re right. Hey, is that a gray hair?” Patrick asked, leaning over to pretend to inspect David’s hair.

“Don’t joke.”

“Maybe you should just stand, David. Plenty of other students stand while they paint.”

“For three hours though? I don’t think that’s very… um, conducive to my artistic process,” David said, and he could tell he wasn’t going to win this battle.

“This chair, though, is conducive to your artistic process? This chair specifically?”

“It cradles my hips, and um? Supports my back, and the angle is… yeah, yes this chair specifically.” David’s only success of the day came in the form of Patrick glancing, albeit briefly, at his hips.

“Uh-huh,” he said, like he was pretending to consider David’s perspective.

“So that’s a no, then? Even though I brought you tea?”

“You got me tea?” Patrick asked.

“Well, not today.” David admitted.

“Ah,” Patrick said, like that was the end of the conversation.

“Okay, so… You’re staying there, then.”

“Uh, yeah David. I think so.” Patrick was already setting up his palette. Class was going to start soon and David had run out of time.

“Mhm,” David hummed, nodding his head. He looked around the room for any remaining acceptable seating. He settled for one of the only stools that wouldn’t wobble when he sat on it. He dragged it over to his easel, allowing it to scrape along the floor as he did so. His tantrum went unnoticed amidst the noise of the other students as they set up for class.

David sat and watched Patrick out of the corner of his eye. Despite how annoying, infuriating, and condescending Patrick was being, David was oddly… comforted by it. He knew how to challenge David, knew how to ignite that spark of competitiveness. David knew he was a difficult person to get along with, but for some reason, that didn’t seem to faze Patrick. In fact, Patrick seemed to lean right into it.

So David sat, agitation and admiration stewing within him in equal measure. He watched Patrick turn his paints into a puddle of color.

“Okay, no. You are using way too much linseed oil. It’s—”

“Incorrect?” Patrick and David said together, and when Patrick’s eyes twinkled, David knew that his twinkled back.

On Thursday, David was pressed for time, as there had been a longer line than usual at the coffee shop. He walked into class just behind the professor. Patrick was waiting.

“Saved you a seat,” He said.

“You’re kind, thank you,” David said, handing Patrick his tea and sitting in his very ugly, very comfortable chair.

* * *

Teasing and flirting accounted for a majority of their interactions, but between the gibes and the not-so-secret glances, they talked. About their families and themselves, their childhoods and their futures. Patrick loved learning more about David. He felt accomplished every time he peeled back another layer. David was quick to make self-deprecating jokes about past relationships but hesitated to reveal more intimate things about himself. Patrick was patient, and by supplying plenty of stories about himself, he got David to open up.

“So what made you choose business?” David asked, as he worked on one of the more detailed paintings of male genitalia Patrick had seen. “I mean, if you like music, and you like baseball, and you were the lead in, what, two of your high school musicals? I still want to see pictures, by the way. How did that person choose to get a _business_ degree?”

“It’s practical,” Patrick answered, because it was the answer he’d been giving for over three years.

“But do you like it?” David asked, pausing mid stroke to look at Patrick.

“I do like it,” he said. He’d struggled with choosing a major, and he’d struggled even after he’d made his choice. He questioned sometimes if it was right for him, but he _did_ enjoy what he was learning.

“Okay,” David said, like maybe he didn’t quite believe it but would allow Patrick to drop the subject if he wanted to. He turned back to his painting.

“ _I do_ ,” Patrick insisted. It bothered him that David might think he was complacent or lacked passion.

“ _Okay_ ,” David said again.

“Look, David, I know it seems boring—“

“I didn’t _say_ that—“

“I _know_ it seems boring, the numbers and the paperwork, the statistics, the economy… I know those things aren’t exciting, but it’s using those things to build something—a business—that’s exciting.” Patrick explained. He tried to tap into what had appealed to him about business in the first place, when he was a senior in high school and things had been simpler.

“So you want to own your own business, then?” David asked.

“I don’t know, um, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Well, I always just thought I’d help other people… but yeah, I think I’d like to own a business.” Patrick said, realizing it was true. He had always thought starting a business was too big a risk, so it was a dream he never let himself have. He had been encouraged, his entire life, against risk. Stability was the dream. Reliable, dependable Patrick—that’s who he thought he needed to be, for his parents, for Rachel… Those were great qualities to have, but sometimes they weighed too heavily on Patrick. Every choice he made had to be the responsible one. It was meant to be flattering, when everyone had high expectations for you. It wasn’t flattering to Patrick, it was debilitating.

“That’s not boring,” David said, looking at Patrick, really _looking_ at him. There was a softness in his eyes that forced Patrick to believe him.

“Um, so what about you? Art?” Patrick said, clearing his throat, shifting the focus.

“Yes, art.” David said, like that was the whole conversation.

“I meant why? Why art?”

“Um, okay, so do you want the prepared speech or the truth?” David asked, quirking one corner of his mouth.

“Honestly kind of curious about the speech,” Patrick said.

“Okay,” David said, clearing his throat like he was about to perform. “I chose to pursue art because I love beautiful things and to be able to capture the world’s beauty with my own hands feels both powerful and important. Art is a great way to express your inner self and share your vision of the world with other people. Not only is art an incredibly personal thing, it also captures the spirit of humanity. It’s a skill that takes a lot of dedication to master and, in addition to being creatively fulfilling, has practical applications as well.”

“Wow, I mean,” Patrick bit his cheek to control his smile, “I’d end with the ‘spirit of humanity’ bit, but wow, that’s really… impressive.”

“Thank you,” David said, tipping his head in humble acknowledgement.

“Okay, so do I get to hear the truth now?” Patrick said, hoping he hadn’t squandered his opportunity. He knew David would only prepare a speech like that if the truth were less ideal, less polished. He hoped David would share it with him anyway.

“Mm, the truth!” David said. “The truth is, um, that I was… a very lonely child and art is a great solo activity, so… I got pretty good at it.” He pulled his upper lip into his mouth and looked at Patrick like he was expecting to be judged, or ridiculed.

“Oh,” was all Patrick could say. Yeah that was certainly less ideal.

“Yeah, I was never really great in group situations? My child psychologist said I had an ‘abrasive personality’ and an, um, ‘unwillingness to adhere to normal social dynamics’ I _think_ were the words he used.”

“David, that’s a terrible thing to say to a child,” Patrick said, appalled.

“Mm! It certainly left a mark,” David said, trying to hide his vulnerability with a bright smile.

“David,” Patrick said, moving to touch his arm. It was meant to be a supportive gesture, to show David that Patrick _cared_ , that he wasn’t alone _now,_ but David turned away before Patrick could reach him.

“I mean,” David said, after a moment of tense silence. “The thing about beauty is kind of true. I do like pretty things.”

“I know you do,” Patrick said, in that moment wanting, more than he ever had, to be a pretty thing that David Rose liked.

* * *

When David had a bad day, there were very few people he could turn to for comfort. In fact, short of calling Alexis and hoping she would pick up, there was only _one_ person he could turn to, and it was Stevie. She wasn’t exactly the warmest friend, but she had supported him, in the best way she knew how—by plying him with cheap wine and rom-coms.

“So do you want to watch Notting Hill, or…” David suggested.

“David, no. We have watched Notting Hill three times already!” Stevie said, throwing her hands up. Notting Hill had been the first movie David had suggested when they started their weekly movie nights. Since then, they had watched it two more times.

“You’re supposed to be supporting me!” David said.

“I _support_ you expanding your taste in movies,” Stevie teased.

“Right because your taste is so sophisticated.”

“It may not be sophisticated but at least it spans across multiple genres.”

“Okay fine! You pick the movie! You pick!” David said, exasperated.

“Every time I pick the movie, you leave the room.”

“Last week you chose Billy Madison.”

“So?” She asked.

“So pick a _good_ movie and I’ll stay.” David said. Stevie scoffed and rolled her eyes. She scrolled through Interflix for a minute before she landed on her next choice.

“What about—“

“No Stevie, we are not watching Splash! You know underwater scenes give me anxiety!” David shouted. Wasn’t this his pity party?

“There are like two underwater scenes in the entire movie and you watched Titanic last week!” Stevie argued.

“It was on TV! And I stopped watching once the boat hit the iceberg!”

“Fine!” Stevie said. After a minute, defeated and resigned, she added “Dirty Dancing?”

“Uh, yes,” David said. Their taste in movies rarely converged, but they both agreed that Dirty Dancing was a classic. Stevie hit play and passed David the bottle of wine.

“So,” Stevie said, after half an hour of silence.

“So,” David said. He was still thinking about his horrible day and would rather do anything than talk about it. Was it too much to ask to make it through an entire movie without conversation? David wanted to get pleasantly drunk and watch other people fall in love.

“Tell me more about Patrick,” Stevie said, landing hard on the ‘k’. David knew, _he knew damnit_ , that he never should have said anything. Talking about Patrick would definitely ease his mind, but Stevie _obviously_ couldn’t be trusted with sensitive information.

“There’s nothing to tell,” David said, hoping he sounded casual. He turned up the volume. Stevie grabbed the remote and muted the movie. David scowled at her.

“At least pause it,” he said. She ignored him.

“I bet Patrick has good taste in movies,” She said. She had shifted so her arm rested on the back of the couch and she could look directly at David.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” David said. Patrick had many things going for him, but taste was maybe not one of them. He probably liked sports movies or documentaries. David wouldn’t be surprised if Patrick had never seen Notting Hill. How sad.

“You should invite him over,” Stevie suggested, her smile pairing perfectly with the evil glint in her eye.

“Absolutely not. You two will never meet if I have anything to do with it.”

“Why not?” Stevie asked, feigning innocence.

“You two would team up and launch some sort of verbal attack on my ego. It’d be very unsafe for me,” David said.

“I like this for you,” Stevie said, and her smile was decidedly less evil and a bit more… something. David might even mistake it for genuine, if he thought she were capable.

“Like what? There’s nothing to like.”

“You’re flustered,” She said, enjoying it.

“I’m not—I had a hard day, lest we forget,” David said.

“Ah, right, _lest we_.” Stevie stared at him for another moment before un-muting the movie. David took a big swallow of wine and tried to pay Dirty Dancing the attention it deserved, but that only led him to think about Patrick Swayze. And Patrick Swayze, great as he was, was not Patrick Brewer.

Stevie allowed them to finish the movie—and the wine—in peace. Before going to bed, Stevie had given him a hug that was meant to be sweet, but was really more awkward than anything. He appreciated the gesture.

Thinking about Patrick had helped David take his mind off things, for a little while. But now, alone again with his buzz wearing off, he was back to dwelling. His thoughts oscillated between self-pity and Patrick. He wanted to talk to him. Patrick always seemed to care. He would tell David… Well, David didn’t know what exactly Patrick would tell him, but he knew how he could find out. They had only texted once or twice since they exchanged numbers. David had been very careful to stifle any temptations to text Patrick regularly. If he felt like he could contact Patrick whenever he wanted, he might, quite literally, never stop. And he knew, from experience, that nobody liked too much David Rose.

He was struggling with the temptation right now. He opened their text thread and stared at it. He read through their brief and polite exchanges, willing himself to have more restraint. David, unfortunately, did not have the ability to will things into existence.

He texted Patrick.

**David:**

Hi are you awake

I know it’s late, sorry

Not his best work, but hopefully enough to get Patrick’s attention. He threw his phone down on the bed and tried to steady the thumping in his chest. It was very likely that Patrick was already sleeping so he shouldn’t expect anything. He shouldn’t expect anything. _He should not expect anything_. He paced his room. He thought about getting a glass of water from the kitchen, just to distract himself. He was on his way out when his phone buzzed. Water could wait.

**Patrick:**

Hey David! I’m awake

What’s up

**David:**

You know what, it’s nothing

Sorry to bother you

**Patrick:**

What? David you’re not bothering me

We can talk whenever you’d like

And if _that_ didn’t send a thrill down David’s spine. He smiled at his phone, thinking about how to respond to something so nice. Patrick was offering to listen but David couldn’t remember how to type. His thumb floated above the keyboard, all the words he wanted to say muddled in his mind. Even though David felt like he was safe with Patrick, he wasn’t sure vulnerability would ever come easy.

**Patrick:**

David?

Everything okay?

David stared at the texts as they came through, unsure how to proceed. After a couple of minutes, his phone was buzzing again and Patrick was calling him.

“Hello?” David said quietly into the phone.

“David, are you okay?” Patrick asked. He sounded nervous but just hearing his voice calmed David immediately.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry—“

“You’re not in trouble or anything?”

“What? No, oh my god,” David said. “It’s nothing like that, sorry.”

“Its okay, that’s good. I’m glad you’re okay,” Patrick said. They were quiet for a moment before he added, “So you just wanted to talk?”

“Um, yeah. Is that okay? I know we said pastry related inquiries only,” David said, trying to shift back into familiar territory. Patrick, thankfully, laughed.

“I think I’ll let it slide this time,” he said. “Was there something specific you wanted to talk about?”

“I just… had a bad day,” David said, sitting back in his bed and pulling the covers around him. “And there are shockingly few people willing to listen to me the way you do.”

“I’m more than happy to listen, David,” Patrick said after a moment. His voice softer, lower. David believed that he meant it. That someone was not only willing to listen to David at 1 AM, but also happy to do it, left David feeling more secure in himself than he had all day. “What happened?”

“I, um, ran into my ex,” David said.

“You know, David,” Patrick said, his voice teasing. The Patrick from a second ago was gone. “Bumping into Stevie in the apartment _that you share_ hardly counts as ‘running into an ex.’”

“Okay,” David said, scrunching his face even though he was alone. “Thanks for that. I hope it was worth it? Because I will, uh, be deleting your number, so.”

“No, David,” Patrick said, and he was laughing. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Mm,” David hummed into the phone.

“Please continue. You ran into an ex?” Patrick said.

“Yes, like an actual ex, who I had romantic feelings for. We dated for a few months a while back.” David said, fidgeting with his rings. Talking about his exes made him feel scummy.

“That must have been tough,” Patrick said.

“It was. He called me _healthy_.”

“Oh? That sounds nice though?”

“It was _not_ meant to be nice,” David said.

“Okay, if it helps,” Patrick said, “with the amount of sugar you consume, you are likely _not_ that healthy.”

“Okay, thanks. Thank you. That’s not,“ David said, “that’s not nice either. I was hoping for something a little more sincere? Like for you to confirm I have value as a human being or something.”

“You do have value, David. Of course you do,” Patrick said, sweet and sincere as per David’s request.

“Yeah it doesn’t land as well when I had to ask you to say it, so.”

“Sorry David,” Patrick said, taking a deep breath. “I guess I’m just having trouble understanding why you care what this guy says? I mean, either you dumped him—which means that you’re too good for him. Or, he dumped you—which, once again, means that you’re too good for him.”

“Um,” David said, trying to hide how pleased he was, “how do they both mean the same thing, exactly?”

“Well, I just figure if you dumped him he must have done something or been lacking in some way,” Patrick said, and though David knew he wasn’t done, the silence stretched. David stared at his ceiling, waiting for Patrick to continue.

“And if he dumped me?” David prompted.

“If he dumped you,” Patrick began, breathless. His voice was quiet and slow, each word given its proper weight. “If he dumped you, he’s so fucking stupid.”

“Mm,” David said, half laugh, half whine. He felt unexpectedly emotional. He was susceptible to flattery under normal circumstances, but hearing Patrick Brewer say such nice things, when he was still a little tipsy and had spent the better part of the day feeling like gum on the bottom of a flip-flop, left him close to tears. “Thank you for saying that.”

“I mean it,” Patrick said.

“I know,” David said, and he did.

They talked for another hour after that, only hanging up when neither could contain their yawns long enough to carry on. David sunk into his bed and pulled his covers up to his neck. He smiled to himself, thinking that maybe he hadn’t had such a terrible day after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I do actually like Adam Sandler. I just think David, who has taste, would not.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For whatever reason, I had a lot of trouble writing this chapter. I hope you guys like it! Let me know what you think!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!

Things had shifted between Patrick and David after their late night phone call. They were texting nearly everyday—Patrick had allowed David to steer that particular aspect of their friendship at first, afraid to initiate anything, but now that the dam had been broken, neither him nor David seemed to be able to stop. It was nice to hear from David on the weekend or on a Wednesday afternoon; times he had previously dedicated to thinking about David could now be filled by actually _talking_ to him.

Patrick enjoyed the little anecdotes he received from David throughout the day. Whether they were stories about Alexis or David’s opinion on celebrity gossip, Patrick always ended up smiling at his phone. His favorite texts to receive, however, were the spontaneous freak-outs that occurred throughout David’s day. Patrick liked being the receptacle for David’s ridiculous musings.

**David:**

I was just ASSAULTED by a pigeon

**Patrick:**

Oh wow are you okay?

**David:**

I’m very shaken up

They are vicious UNNATURAL creatures

There’s a reason they call a group of them a MURDER

**Patrick:**

Okay

I’m pretty sure that’s crows though?

**David:**

So then what’s a group of pigeons called

**Patrick:**

I don’t know David

A flock?

**David:**

Whatever

Patrick also noticed that David was more willing to touch him than he had been before. Of course, there had been the fleeting brush of fingertips when David passed him his coffee, but now there were times when David would place his hand firmly on Patrick’s shoulder as he said hi, or touch his arm to get his attention, rather than just saying his name. Patrick was more than willing to reciprocate. He was even bold enough, as he walked by David one morning, to yank his earlobe as he said hi. Underneath David’s shocked expression, Patrick swore he saw amusement.

Patrick had been feeling more secure in himself lately. He’d been referring to himself, in his mind, as gay for weeks now and it no longer felt overwhelming just to think about. He still had trouble saying it—those were words shared only between him and his therapist, but he was slowly warming up to the idea of coming out.

He thought about coming out to David nearly every day. That was the next logical step, in regards to both his sexuality and his relationship with David. He should come out to somebody, someone he felt comfortable around. And if he wanted anything to happen with David, letting him know that he was gay might be a good place to start.

He just couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. There didn’t seem to be a natural way to come out to someone. He’d been offered the perfect opportunity when David had asked him if he was interested in men that second day of class, and Patrick had blown it. He waited for their conversation to shift in that direction again, but it never did. The closest they got was when David shared one of his horror stories about an ex, and that never felt like a smooth segue to Patrick. _Hey, David, I know we’re talking about how your ex-boyfriend cheated on you with three different people but would now be the appropriate time to mention that I’m gay?_

There wasn’t going to be a perfect time to say it. He just had to get it over with, awkward as it may be.

“Hey, David?” Patrick said.

“Yes?” David said, pausing his painting to look directly at Patrick. He appreciated David’s undivided attention, but he was hoping this would be one of those times when David was so focused on painting that he could just slip the words out. He felt frozen under David’s gaze.

“Um,” he said, breaking eye contact to stare at his palette. He dragged his paintbrush through some color and mixed it around. He knew David would scold him later for the abuse he put his brushes through. “I’m…” _I’m gay, I’m gay, I’m gay. Say it!_

“Patrick?” David prompted.

“I’m, uh, having trouble with my painting. Could you help?” Patrick said instead. _Coward._

“Oh, sure—“

“Did someone say they were having trouble?” Their professor asked, coming up behind them and looking between Patrick and David. David looked from her to Patrick and raised his eyebrows.

“Uh, no,” Patrick said. “Nope, I don’t think so.”

“Okay, well let me know,” She said, before walking away to check on the other students. David was still looking at him, presumably confused (and rightfully so), but Patrick could not meet his eyes. He knew he was blushing, which made it worse.

“Okay,” David said quietly, more to himself than to Patrick. He turned back to his own work and Patrick tried to do the same.

Patrick’s heart was hammering in his chest. The prospect of almost coming out mixed with embarrassing himself immediately after left him feeling unbalanced and a little nauseous. He’d wanted to do it. He’d been ready to do it, but as soon as he opened his mouth the words suddenly felt too big, and at the same time, incredibly small. Why did he have to do this anyway? It seemed like it should be irrelevant to everyone else, what Patrick’s preferences were.

But maybe not irrelevant to David? Or maybe it would be irrelevant to David and that’s why Patrick couldn’t say anything.

He stared at his canvas, trying to figure out why his figure looked like a mud-monster while David’s looked like… well, a person. He willed himself to do something. To fix it.

After a minute, David put down his paintbrush and stood up. He walked over to Patrick and stood beside him, close. Patrick still didn’t want to look at him, so he scooped up some brown-gray paint with his brush and plopped it onto his canvas. Before he could do it again, David gently plucked the brush from Patrick’s hands.

“Do you… want help?” He asked, quietly. He was standing very close to Patrick, the words only for them. Patrick finally looked at him.

There was a moment, when Patrick looked into David’s eyes, when he thought David must know. Must know exactly what Patrick was thinking and feeling. David’s entire face was… open, his eyes and mouth working together to create a look that Patrick could only describe as tender understanding. He thought, briefly, that if this is how David Rose looks at _him_ , what is he saving for the people that he loves?

It felt right to be standing in David’s orbit, so close their arms were but an inch from touching. He took a second to admire David’s height. There was at least a three-inch difference between them. He’d never had a crush on someone taller than him, and he was shocked to realize he felt protected by David’s height rather than threatened by it.

The look on David’s face told Patrick that whatever had just happened was fine, he was safe. He felt a tingle on the back of his neck, a warmth blooming in his chest. And whether he needed the help or not, Patrick nodded. Anything to keep David close.

“Okay,” David whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips. A smile just for Patrick. He proceeded to wipe the brushes clean and scrape the muddied paints off of Patrick’s palette. He began to mix a few new colors.

“I don’t know what I’ve done here,” Patrick said, after a minute of watching David prepare his new palette. He was finally able to breath again.

“No, it’s—“

“David, it’s okay. It’s a disaster.”

“It does look a bit like bigfoot,” David reluctantly admitted.

“You know, I did have an encounter as a child,” Patrick said.

“Ah, so its trauma presenting itself through art, then.”

“Must be,” Patrick said, starting to feel more like himself. Their back-and-forth felt so natural, easy.

“I told you no good could come from camping.”

“I guess you were right.”

“Okay, so you hold this,” David said, passing Patrick his paintbrush, “and I will just…” David grabbed a palette knife and waved it at Patrick. He began to scrape paint off of the canvas, in the areas where Patrick had applied too much of it. It started to look—well, not _better_ , but less like a lost cause.

“Thank you, David,” Patrick said.

“Um,” David said, clearing his throat, “so just try to paint with thinner layers? And you can slowly build them up and that should keep your colors from getting too muddy.”

Patrick nodded. David squeezed his arm before returning to his own easel. They worked in silence for the remainder of class, Patrick trying to follow David’s instructions. He had managed to work with thinner layers, and his colors looked cleaner, but he still had his struggles. And with every struggle he fell farther behind the rest of the class.

“So here’s something fun,” David said, as Patrick started to clean up his station. “I was thinking of hanging around for a while… So, if you wanted more help, you could stay too.”

Patrick couldn’t help but smile at the thought of spending more time with David. He wanted to, he _really_ wanted to. He thought briefly about skipping therapy, but that was a habit he did not want to fall into.

“Uh,” He said, “I actually have to be somewhere…”

“Right, of course,” David said, and Patrick _hated_ what his face was doing. “Of course you have somewhere to be, that makes sense. Um, okay. I guess I’ll just… see you next week then.”

Patrick desperately didn’t want David to think whatever it was he was thinking—either that Patrick was too busy for him, or that Patrick was lying to him, making up an excuse to not spend time with him. Who were these people that hurt David this way?

“After, though,” Patrick said, his voice sounding a little more desperate than he would have liked, “I could come back after, if you’ll still be here.”

“Oh, um, you don’t have to do that,” David said.

“No, no I want to. And I could really use the help,” Patrick said, not adding that four days felt far too long to go without seeing David. Texting was great, but it could only satiate Patrick for so long before he needed to see David in person, hear his voice, see the way his mouth twisted or his eyes gleamed when Patrick teased him just the right way.

“Okay… so, like, what time do you think you’ll be back?”

“Let’s say 5:30?” If Patrick came directly from therapy, he could be here.

“Okay, it’s a—it’s, yes. Good. I will be here,” David said, pulling his lips into his mouth and nodding his head. He had to know how that drove Patrick crazy, right? Had to notice Patrick noticing his mouth?

“I’ll see you later, David,” Patrick said, grabbing his stuff and heading out.

* * *

“There’s no rush to tell people, Patrick,” his therapist said, over an hour later.

“I know but… I wanted to tell him.”

“Then why didn’t you?” She asked.

“I don’t know, it’s just… hard,” Patrick said, resting his head in his hands.

“Which is why I stress again, there is no time limit on this. Maybe once you’ve know each other longer, once you’re more comfortable, it will come easier.”

“But that’s the thing. I’ve never felt more comfortable around someone in my entire life. He makes me feel… so like myself. I just…”

“Go on,” she urged.

“What if he laughs at me?”

“Why would he laugh at you?”

“He’s known he was pansexual, or at least queer, since he was like… twelve years old. I think he kissed a guy for the first time when he was fourteen. I’m almost twenty-one and just now figuring out my sexuality… I feel stupid. Like if he knows how inexperienced I am, he won’t like me anymore.” These feelings had been lurking in the back of Patrick’s mind for a while now, but that didn’t stop them from sounding any less stupid when Patrick said them out loud.

“Okay, setting aside the fact that everyone goes through life at a different pace, this doesn’t sound like the David you’ve been telling me about for weeks.”

“No, I guess it doesn’t,” Patrick admitted. He and David teased each other a lot, but it had never been malicious. If he were being honest with himself, he knew David would be kind. Maybe that was worse. Did Patrick prefer David laugh at him or pity him?

“Look, Patrick, this is not something that you have to do. Ever, if you don’t want to. Your sexuality is nobodies business, but if this _is_ a part of yourself that you want to share? I think there’s nobody better to share it with, then someone who already makes you feel like yourself.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, blinking to clear the moisture from his eyes.

* * *

“Uh oh, someone’s been shopping,” David said as Patrick entered the art room.

“What?” He asked.

“You’ve got bags,” David said, gesturing to Patrick’s face.

“Oh.” Patrick had thought it wasn’t that obvious, that he had splashed enough water on his face to regain composure, but leave it to Mr. Nine-Step-Skincare-Routine to notice anyway. Patrick was still feeling a little tender, so knowing he wore the evidence on his face made him incredibly self-conscious. Double, considering how good David looked. Had he changed?

“I’m realizing now, that joke may have been inappropriate,” David said, pulling his mouth into a frown. “Are you okay?”

“It’s fine, I’m fine, David,” Patrick said. “Let’s just paint.”

“Sure, just let me know if you want… help.”

They worked in silence for a little while, Patrick doing his best to stomp down his wild, erratic thoughts. He was going to say something, he knew he was. It was just his nerves making him falter. Patrick had never been very good at emotional conversations. It’s how he’d lasted so long with Rachel. Avoidance. He was so _damn tired_ of avoiding.

“Have you ever seen a therapist?” He asked David. His voice sounded loud in the emptiness of the classroom. It was just the two of them.

“Um,” David said. His mouth was open slightly and his eyebrows were raised, like he was caught off guard by the question. Fair enough.

“I mean, after your terrible child psychologist that is,” Patrick added, trying to laugh. It sounded hollow.

“Uh, yes. I did. I saw quite a few different therapists for a number of years.”

“Did it help?”

“Sometimes,” David said, turning back to his painting. Patrick was quiet, having learned that silence was one of David’s best motivators.

“Oh, you want me to elaborate,” David said, after less than a minute. He sighed, stretching it out, like he needed the time to think. “Um, well… I’ve always been a very emotional person, as you may have figured out.” They shared a smile. “And since my parents were never around and my friends weren’t exactly abundant, it was nice to have someone who would listen, even if they _were_ being paid,” David said.

“What kind of things did you talk about?” Patrick asked.

“My family, sometimes. Mostly about myself… my sexuality was a hot topic for a second, my insecurities, loneliness…” David said, and Patrick could hear the forced steadiness. It still baffled Patrick to hear about how lonely David had been. Who wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to spend time with David Rose? Though, Patrick supposed, he’d had plenty of friends and it had never stopped him from feeling lonely.

“So if it helped, why’d you stop?” he asked.

“Um, when my family lost all of our money, it became less of a priority.”

“Ah,” Patrick said. David had never gone into the full details about his family’s financial issues and Patrick never pushed him. He could tell it wasn’t something David was comfortable talking about.

“Does this have anything to do with your ‘somewhere to be’ from earlier?” David asked.

“I’ve been going every Thursday since last semester,” Patrick said. It felt good to share.

“That’s good, Patrick,” David said. He hesitated for a second before adding, “If you ever want to talk…”

“That’s what the therapist is for David,” Patrick said, smiling like it was a joke. He couldn’t quite pull off teasing about therapy with his usual charm.

“Sure, but sometimes it’s nice to have someone to talk to outside of therapy, or _about_ therapy.”

“Like a back-up therapist?” Patrick joked.

“Exactly,” David said, “or like… a friend.”

If Patrick was surprised by the sentiment, he hoped it didn’t show. David had a way of disarming him when he least expected it. David, for all the self-deprecating jokes about vanity and his inability to ‘adhere to normal social dynamics’, was capable of handling serious conversations with a tact that Patrick admired. This felt like the moment.

Patrick put down his paintbrush and sat. David did the same, pulling his chair close to Patrick and purposefully knocking their knees together. He gave Patrick an encouraging smile.

Patrick opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. It was like he physically could not say anything. He closed his mouth and groaned. He was frustrated and disappointed in himself. He trusted David. Why couldn’t he just tell him?

David was watching Patrick with uncharacteristic patience. He raised his hand, and after a second of hesitation, rested it on Patrick’s leg, just above his knee. It was meant to be supportive, and it was, but it was also possibly the most intimate contact they’d shared so far. It made Patrick’s breath hitch.

He watched David’s hand, looked into David’s eyes, and just like that:

“I’m gay,” He said, and despite the uptick in his heartbeat and the pressure behind his eyes, he felt _good_. Proud of himself even.

David sat silently, nodding, allowing Patrick to have this moment.

“Uh, you know it’s… it’s okay, right?” He asked, and though it had been obvious in retrospect, that David would support him, Patrick still felt immensely grateful to hear those words.

“Yeah, David. I know it’s okay,” Patrick said, unable to hide the emotion—the relief—in his voice.

“Okay,” David said, pulling Patrick to his feet. A second later, he wrapped his arms around Patrick, and they were hugging. David’s height, the width of his shoulders, his strong hands and clean smell, lent themselves to one of the best hugs Patrick had ever received. They stayed like that long enough, that it might have gotten weird under normal circumstances. But it wasn’t weird. It was _David_. It felt natural to have David in his arms, to be in David’s arms. Natural, like they fit together, like they were supposed to be right here.

“Your sweater is very soft,” Patrick said into David’s shoulder. A relatively safe compliment. What he couldn’t say was _you smell amazing_.

“Thank you, it cost $1,200,” David said, pulling back from Patrick.

“David! I just cried all over your very expensive sweater!” Patrick said, reaching out to wipe some of the wet from David’s sweater, but mostly using it as an excuse to touch David again.

“It’s okay Patrick. I’ll get it dry-cleaned,” David said, and was he leaning into Patrick’s touch? Patrick left his hand on David’s shoulder, just to see if he could get away with pushing their boundaries a little.

“Um,” David said, “So is this what you talk about in therapy?”

“This?” Patrick asked. Him and David, _this_? Was he that obvious? _Of course it’s obvious, dummy, you’re literally giving the man a shoulder massage._ Patrick dropped his arm and stepped away from David.

“Being gay?” David clarified.

“Oh,” Patrick said, “Yeah, mostly. Also just some general stress and anxiety. You know she’s actually the one who convinced me to take an art class?”

“Remind me to send her a fruit basket,” David said, eyes twinkling. Patrick knew he couldn’t hide his blush.

“Will do,” he said.

“So why’d she recommend an art class? It’s not exactly… your thing,” David said, flinching a bit to soften the insult.

“What do you mean, David? I was thinking of switching majors.” Patrick feigned shock.

“Ah, great! Because I was actually thinking of switching to business! Maybe we could just trade classes for the rest of the semester.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Really, though?” David asked.

“Um, well she thought I needed a creative outlet, since I’ve kind of been avoiding music for the past few years,” Patrick said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Years? It’s been _years_?”

“Yeah…” Patrick sighed. “For a while I was feeling less and less like myself and I started to feel really disconnected from music. I didn’t want to sing or play, for myself or anyone else. It got to a point where playing only ever reminded me of my ex-girlfriend and the feelings that I _didn’t_ have for her… and all the aggravation I felt at not understanding _why_ … so I just kind of stopped.”

“Wow,” David said, softly.

“Yeah, I do miss it though,” Patrick said, feeling like that was true for the first time in years.

“Well, now you understand all those feelings a little better, right?”

“Yes, I certainly do,” Patrick said, letting out a small laugh.

“You know…” David said, biting his cheek.

“What?” Patrick asked. He had to stare David down before he continued.

“The music department is in the basement. They have instruments. And all the students are probably gone for the day…”

“Oh,” Patrick said, his stomach flip-flopping at the thought of playing again. Playing for David.

“We could—“

“Can we—“

“We can… check it out, if you want?” David offered.

After a beat, Patrick nodded, small but sure. He felt his skin buzzing, stuck someplace between anticipation and nervousness. It had been so long since he last played, he was afraid he’d embarrass himself in front of David. More than he had already, that is.

But he also felt like this could be a moment for them, something intimate to share, a way to woo David. And Patrick wanted nothing, if not to woo David.

He had never wanted to woo Rachel. He had been kind to her, of course, and he played guitar for her, and sang, but any big gesture he had ever made had been born of a desperation to fix things, not any real desire to encourage affection.

Everything was different with David. And he was knocked off his feet, figuratively of course, every time he realized just how different things were.

He glanced at David as they got in the elevator and was thrilled to see a smile that matched his own: flirty, conspiratorial, and just genuinely… happy.

David leaned closer to Patrick, closer than necessary, to press the button for the basement. He caught David’s scent again, clean and manly, and felt his knees go weak. It transported him back to their hug, the best hug of Patrick’s life. How could he get more of those hugs? Would he have to have an emotionally raw conversation with David every time he wanted to feel his arms around him? That could get exhausting.

The elevator opened and Patrick allowed David to exit first, as he had never been to the basement before. David led him down the hall, peering into classroom windows as he went. He stopped at the third room and turned to Patrick.

“How do we feel about piano?” David asked.

“Not my preferred instrument, but it’ll do,” Patrick said. David turned the doorknob, but it didn’t open. Locked.

“Fuck,” David said.

Patrick slung his backpack off his shoulder and opened it. He reached into the bottom and pulled out two bobby pins. He flashed them at David before nudging him out of the way. He inserted them into the lock, and after a minute of jiggling and an audible click, Patrick pushed the door open.

“Uh, _what_?” David asked, glee and shock written across his face. Patrick winked and walked into the classroom. Truthfully, he’d dreamt about a moment like this his entire life. Impressing some cute boy with his criminal behavioir.

“Where did you learn that?” David asked, following him into the room.

“I don’t want to tell you,” Patrick said.

“Why not?”

“Because it will turn that very cool thing that I just did into something significantly less cool,” Patrick admitted.

“Come on, just tell me.”

“David.” Patrick hoped he sounded firm.

“Tell me, tell me,” David said, pawing at his arm.

“Okay fine, fine. I learned it at summer camp,” Patrick said, and yep, there was no cool way to talk about summer camp.

“Summer camp? You learned to _pick locks_ at summer camp? That’s adorable,” David said, like he knew exactly what Patrick did _not_ want to hear.

“See, David? It’s not supposed to be adorable.”

“Fine. It’s _sexy_ and adorable,” David said and Patrick liked that _much_ better. _Sexy_ echoed in his mind on an infinite loop.

“Okay David,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes. “Do you want me to play or not?”

“Um, I realize now that I kind of invited myself to this little concert. Do you want me to stay, or…” David said, looking unsure. His concern for Patrick’s comfort was sweet.

“I want you to stay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Stay,” Patrick said, taking a deep breath and running his fingers along the keys. He saw David not in his peripheral. If he was going to do this, he could not look at David. He hadn’t played his guitar in three years, but he hadn’t played piano in even longer. He gave himself a moment to remember, playing some chords and flinching when they sounded sour. He adjusted accordingly, and after a few blunders felt more comfortable.

He had not intended to play anything specific, just to mess around a bit. But after a few minutes he fell into a familiar song. He had practiced it years ago, on both piano and guitar, thinking it would be something Rachel would like. She always wanted him to play for her at open mic nights, or at campfires with their friends, sometimes even when they were alone watching a movie. She would press pause and turn to Patrick and request he ‘play her something romantic’.

He had never actually played her this song though. When he had been practicing and was forced to actually learn the lyrics, they tugged at his heart in a way that terrified him. These were not words he could bring himself to sing to Rachel.

Funny how they felt so natural now.

He played the chords, disjointed and sloppy, and he hummed more than he sang, but David recognized the song anyway.

“I love this song,” David said, a small smile fighting to overtake his face.

“Me too.” Patrick matched his smile and held his gaze long enough, probably, for David to see everything he was feeling.

And _boy_ was he feeling.

“Um.” Patrick stopped playing suddenly, overwhelmed with all of the emotions he wasn’t used to. He knew if he didn’t end this now he’d do something stupid. David made it so easy to do stupid things.

_Is it stupid, though?_

“Everything okay?” David said, concern replacing whatever sparkle graced his features earlier.

“Yeah, yeah. I just…” Patrick hesitated, trying to think of an excuse. “I thought I heard someone. Don’t want to get in trouble. We should go.”

“Okay,” David said, and from his tone of voice Patrick could tell that David knew he was lying.

Patrick closed the piano and pushed the bench back under it while David dragged his chair across the room. They grabbed their bags, turned off the lights, and locked the door on their way out. They stayed silent as they got on the elevator and took it to the first floor.

“David,” Patrick said, turning to face him as they stepped out of the elevator. David looked at him and for a moment Patrick thought about kissing him. Instead, he pulled him into another hug.

“Thank you,” He whispered into David’s shoulder, low enough that, though they were alone in the building, only David could hear him. David gave a happy hum in acknowledgement. They broke apart and Patrick said goodnight.

Patrick walked across campus, back to his dorm, the words of Tina Turner floating through his mind.

_And it can’t be wrong, take my heart and make it strong, babe…_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late upload! I wanted to have this up on Sunday, but this chapter demanded a little more time. I really wanted to get it right! Please let me know if I succeeded! 
> 
> Also, if everything goes to plan, there should be a total of 13 chapters!
> 
> As always thank you for reading!!

David Rose spent his weekend thinking.

He didn’t go out, he didn’t do any schoolwork, and though he did hang out with Stevie on Friday night, he was distracted the entire time. Not even Bridget Jones could steal him from his reverie.

It was Patrick that he was thinking about, of course. David knew _something_ was going to happen. He could feel it thrumming in the air between them, an energy so palpable it was like static. He wanted Patrick—wanted him with an ache that had taken root so deep within he’d need invasive surgery to extract it. Not that he ever wanted to stop feeling this way, despite how it terrified him. And it _did_ terrify him.

The sooner he had Patrick, the sooner he’d lose him. Wasn’t that how it always went?

David was great at pushing people away, intentionally or not. Every one of his exes had made him aware of how he’d failed them. He was too clingy or needy, or alternatively, too aloof or uninterested. David was, at every turn, too much for one person and not enough for the next. He wasn’t so deluded as to think every failed relationship was his fault, but he took some responsibility. Some of his exes had been truly vile people, but he wasn’t always great either. He had let a good thing slip through his fingers in the past.

It was different this time. None of those exes had been Patrick Brewer. If they had been, David would have thought twice before giving up. He would have _tried._ Patrick made David want to try. And that, in and of itself, was a miracle.

David had never been in a situation like this before. He’d never had such strong feelings for someone as good as Patrick. Someone he respected. Someone who made David doubt the negativity and self-hatred that lurked in his mind all hours of the day.

And that’s why he dreaded the beginning of this relationship. Because it would, as things go, lead to the end.

Patrick made David better. Was it so wrong to want to savor that?

Besides, David had never enjoyed flirting so much before. If he had any sense of self-preservation, this is as far as he would let things go. Anything more would be sure to ruin him.

So he was hesitant to initiate anything. David was normally _go go go_ when it came to people. They were in and out of his life in a matter of months—sometimes weeks. Hours, if they were a one-night-stand.

He didn’t want that with Patrick. He wanted—was it too soon to say he wanted years? No one who wasn’t biologically or financially obligated had ever stuck around for years. It was one of David’s general desires—for someone to want to stick around—but also, now, one that he tied specifically to Patrick.

He wasn’t being smart. He had let himself pile all of these emotions and wants and, ugh, _hopes_ on Patrick. It had happened so slowly at first, that by the time David realized exactly how much of himself he had given to Patrick, it was too late. Surely Patrick couldn’t carry all of it. Nor should he be expected to.

Why did David always do this? Even after all of his disappointments, he still expected too much from people. Expected them to carry everything while he strolled along at a brisk pace, wondering why they couldn’t keep up. And then, when they undoubtedly dropped everything, he acted like none of it was his fault. If he hadn’t been carrying anything, why should he take the blame when it fell?

He didn’t want that for himself anymore. He certainly didn’t want it for Patrick. How could he learn to carry things when he had never been taught?

So David was lost in his thoughts all weekend, thinking through every scenario, trying to find the one that let him keep Patrick. He didn’t find it. If his history were anything to go by, David would be left with a broken heart by the end. He did decide, however, that he’d rather his own heart shatter a million times over before Patrick’s ever saw so much as a crack.

So this was how he was going to do it.

David would follow Patrick’s lead on this whole thing. He hoped, as Patrick was relatively new to dating men, that things would meander on as they had been for a while longer. Slow and steady. Flirting and teasing in equal turn. Patrick’s shyness might actually work in David’s favor.

“Do you want to grab coffee after class?” Patrick asked, mere moments after David had walked in the room.

“What?”

“Coffee? After class today?” Patrick said again.

“Um,” David said. _Oh boy._

“Sorry, you don’t have to. I just thought—“

“Yes.” David’s pulse thrummed with _go go go_. It was hard to keep a clear head—hard to remember why he was resisting when Patrick was right in front of him. Offering to get coffee after class.

“Yes?”

“Yes. Let’s get coffee.”

“Well technically I will be getting tea,” Patrick said, a smirk just beginning to form on his lips. David rolled his eyes and Patrick laughed, bright and loud. He seemed lighter today and David wanted to bask in his glow as long as Patrick would let him.

David couldn’t help but watch Patrick throughout class. As much as he tried to focus on painting, his eyes would inevitably stray. After every stroke of paint, David allowed himself a moment to drink in Patrick. He was beautiful, normally, but since he had come out to David last week, there was an easiness about him, a comfort that David wanted to sink into. How could anyone really blame him for noticing?

He tried to be subtle, discreet, as he admired Patrick. He let his eyes track Patrick’s body; from his face, focused on his work, occasionally furrowing his brow as he tried to manipulate the paint, to his neck and down his strong back, his relaxed posture and his bare arms—Patrick had started wearing t-shirts when they began painting and David had never been more grateful for Hanes in his life.

“Is there a problem?” Patrick said, not looking at David but smiling nonetheless.

“What?”

“I can feel you glaring at me, David. Am I doing something wrong?” Patrick finally turned to look at him and David hoped he wasn’t blushing.

“No. Nope. You’re doing really well.” David said, trying to sound like he hadn’t just been caught drooling over Patrick. David swiped a thumb across the corner of his mouth—he _hadn’t_ been drooling, right?

“Okay, well you’re making me self-conscious. Focus on your own painting.” Patrick turned away but he didn’t look angry. He didn’t look self-conscious either. He looked amused and, maybe, a little cocky.

“Okay,” David said, properly chagrined, but it was like he physically could not stop watching Patrick.

“David!”

“Sorry!” David forced himself to turn back to his own work, but maintained an awareness of Patrick in his peripheral.

Class dragged on, second by torturous second. Between his hyper-awareness of Patrick and their... not-date after class, David couldn’t focus. It wasn’t a date.

Was it a date?

They were just hanging out, like friends do. Like friends who sometimes flirt with each other and grab coffee together do. Like a friendly little coffee-date. A coffee-not-date.

It was just that David felt like it was a date.

If David were as confident as he pretended to be, he might ask. But David was not, and so he couldn’t. If this was not a date, asking might just push Patrick out of reach entirely. He’d just have to… feel things out, see how it went. Either way, he was spending time with Patrick after class. This was a good thing.

David was so hyped up about the potentially-but-probably-not-a-date that he couldn’t concentrate. He had already been reprimanded for staring at Patrick, the only activity that would effectively distract him. He tried harder to focus on his painting, but he was too close to being finished for the process to really absorb him like it normally would. He leisurely added some extra details, more highlights, strands of hair, sharpened some of his softer lines. It could be argued that he’d overworked his painting by the end.

Truthfully David spent most of his time sneaking glances at Patrick. Whatever he could manage without getting caught. All David really wanted was to just exist near Patrick, to be in his presence. He noticed Patrick noticing him, but he kept his mouth shut like a decent human being. David liked to be looked at, especially when it was Patrick doing the looking.

David started to clean up a little earlier than he normally would. He took longer than Patrick anyway, because he actually cared about properly cleaning his brushes. Patrick, shame on him, had already lost two brushes to improper maintenance. If he would just clean the bristles the way David had taught him…

A few minutes later Patrick stored his painting and began his own clean-up process. David resisted the urge to correct his methods, instead choosing to focus on how good Patrick looked while he cleaned. David was quickly developing an obsession with Patrick’s hands. They weren’t elegant or well maintained the way David’s hands were, but they were strong and manly in a gentle kind of way. David had dreamed, more than once, about holding them, kissing them. He remembered how they felt on his back when they had hugged and craved that feeling again.

They moved around each other, each cleaning their respective workstations. They were swift and succinct, David sacrificing some of his standard diligence in favor of leaving sooner. Each time they looked at each other, it was like a challenge to see who could finish first, a dare to move faster.

“Are you ready to go?” Patrick asked once everything had been cleaned and put away.

“After you,” David said. He grabbed his bag and followed Patrick out of the classroom.

They walked side-by-side, keeping pace with one another. David was charmed, as always, by their height difference. He had a thing for short guys, but they spent so much of their time together sitting, that David often forgot he had inches on Patrick. David loved the way Patrick looked at him now, glancing up, his doe-eyes framed by his thick eyelashes. Every time Patrick fluttered those eyelashes, David’s heart fluttered back.

They floated closer to each other as they walked, arms brushing lightly enough that it might be an accident. It was cold after all, and only natural to seek the body heat of a friend, right? David wanted to test it. He, ever so slowly, put some space between them, and just like a magnet Patrick followed, arms brushing like it was their nature to be connected. Maybe it was.

David bit his cheek to keep his grin in check. He had never felt so thrilled by such chaste contact before.

“So,” he said, “which coffee shop are we going to?”

“I figured we’d just go to the one on campus? If that’s all right with you?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Well ‘perfect’ seems a little generous,” Patrick said, pairing his teasing smile with an extra deliberate arm bump.

“You’re right. Perfect would be an outside table at Les Deux Magots in Paris in the late spring. But this will be nice too.”

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t compete with Paris, David.”

“Well, the _coffee_ can’t compete, but the company’s definitely better.”

“And if I offer to pay for this mediocre coffee?”

“Then who needs Paris?” David said.

This was a date. This was a _date._ David felt sure of it now. Does someone offer to pay if there aren’t romantic intentions? Unless Patrick still wanted to pay him back for all of the teas he had bought (the teas he had bought with romantic intentions)? The pastries had more than made up for that, though.

If the offer to pay didn’t mean that this was a date, then the way Patrick had been looking at him—eyes bright and a light flush sweeping up his cheeks—surely did. He was enamored, practically lovesick. The thought made David shiver.

“Cold?” Patrick asked, a simple reminder that Patrick noticed David just about as much as David noticed him.

“Not at all,” David replied. It was true. He had never felt warmer in his life. Just being by Patrick’s side chased away any notion of cold that David had ever experienced.

That didn’t stop Patrick from removing his scarf and tying it gently, and perhaps slower than necessary, around David’s neck. Patrick’s fingertips brushed underneath his jaw and David felt as if he’d been burned. In a really, really, good way.

“What? You’re not going to offer me your jacket? All I get is the scarf?” David objected, even as he burrowed deeper into the fabric. This scarf may be the softest thing Patrick owned.

“Please, you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing this jacket,” Patrick said, but he laughed like he knew David’s preference for designer fashion was nothing personal.

“No, you’re right. I wouldn’t.” This worked out better for David anyway. With Patrick’s scarf tucked right under his chin, David could smell Patrick’s shampoo, his cologne. The scarf was already warm from Patrick’s body heat. It was like they were hugging all over again.

They walked slowly, a silent agreement to stretch out their time together. The silence became a little awkward, but it was awkward in a sweet, shy way. They both knew what was happening between them but neither was brave enough to name it.

David felt Patrick’s knuckles brush against his once, twice. It took everything he had not to take Patrick’s hand in his. He was letting Patrick figure this out, letting Patrick lead. But then he felt Patrick’s pinky loop around his—a gesture that made David’s stomach flip—and that certainly wasn’t an accident. David tried to look at Patrick’s face, to see what it was doing (to get a glimpse of the beautiful blush he knew was tinting his cheeks right now), but Patrick’s face was angled away. Like he could either hold hands with David or look at him, but never both together.

David could no longer resist. He was threading his fingers through Patrick’s, a deliberate action that said _I want this too_ when:

“Patrick! Hey!” A man called out and Patrick jerked away from David like he’d been burned. And _not_ in a really, really good way. The action left David feeling sucker-punched, like his tether to Patrick was the only thing that allowed him to breath.

A guy dressed worse than Patrick strode up to them and Patrick put a few more feet between himself and David to meet him. The farther apart they were, the colder David felt. They clapped each other on the back and the change in Patrick was so immediate and so stark, that David instantly felt like he didn’t belong there. He didn’t belong with this Patrick. He clenched his jaw to keep himself in check.

David thought briefly about leaving. In fact, he had taken two hesitant steps backwards when the stranger gestured towards him.

“Who’s this?” He asked.

“This is my…”

_Your what? Who am I?_

“…friend David,” Patrick said and he smiled but it wasn’t a smile David recognized. If he was honest, he didn’t really like this smile. And he didn’t like being called ‘friend’, a word that, a few days ago, might have thrilled David. Now it felt inadequate, like Patrick was putting emotional distance between them as well as physical. It all felt like a lie.

“Hey,” David said, reluctantly rejoining the group.

“I’m Brian,” the guy said, holding his hand out to David. David shook Brian’s hand to be polite, out of respect for Patrick. He tried not to grimace. David wasn’t one for handshakes to begin with, and the discrepancy between Brian’s hand and the hand he had almost held moments ago made the exchange all the more unsavory to David.

“Brian is also on the baseball team,” Patrick explained.

“Ah,” David said, and he knew he wasn’t being very friendly, but it was all he could manage when the rest of his mind was trying to remind him that Patrick was not like all of his exes. That this was _not_ a repeat of all the mistakes he had made in the past. He was reading too much into this. He had to be.

“Okay,” Brian said after a moment, “I’ll see you this weekend, Pat.” _Pat._

“Later man,” Patrick said. Brian nodded to David before walking away. Patrick seemed to be studying the ground.

There was noticeable space between them as they walked now, and David didn’t know if that made things better or worse. He crossed his arms, an old habit born from the need to protect himself in uncomfortable situations. He’d never felt the need to use it around Patrick before. Patrick wasn’t so oblivious as to not recognize what he’d done, but he wasn’t addressing it either. Their silence was awkward again, but it was no longer sweet.

It was tense.

David felt rejected is what it was. He’d allowed himself to be vulnerable with Patrick, had begun to feel comfortable, and then Patrick had… done what he’d done. He’d dropped one of the pieces. If he could swallow the anger and the shame he was feeling, David knew that it probably wasn’t about him at all… Patrick had told him he wasn’t out to many people… but still, David was hurt. It was like reliving every bad relationship he had had. A reminder of every time someone gave up on him, didn’t fight for him.

But was it fair for him to want those things if he didn’t also make an effort? David was used to doing nothing. He could take the same approach now—do nothing and hope that Patrick fixed things or just… let this fall apart. It would keep with the pattern. Or he could try something different. He could pick the piece up, help to carry some of the weight.

David’s heart was in his throat and he was feeling a little nauseous. He was overwhelmed with about forty different emotions, but louder than them all was the voice in the back of his head saying _this is when you try, David._

“David…” Patrick said, and it was soft and quiet and maybe a little scared. It broke David out of his trance.

“Can I just ask,” David began, “what you want to happen here?”

“What—“

“Because, I mean, _something_ is happening here, right? Or am I just imagining things?”

“David, you’re not—“

“I guess it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve deluded myself into thinking there was more going on—“

“David!” Patrick said, grabbing David’s arm and yanking him to a halt, “You’re not imagining things!”

“I’m not?”

“Of course you’re not.”

“Okay,” David said, biting his lip and closing his eyes while he thought. “And, um, what exactly? Am I not imagining?”

“That I… That _we_ …” Patrick was incapable of forming coherent sentences but he looked at David with eyes that said _help me do this_ and so how could David possibly say no?

David grabbed Patrick by the arm and dragged him to a nearby bench. David allowed himself a moment of mental preparation, a second to cool his nerves. He did not share his emotions with people very often, and almost never willingly. He took a steadying breath.

“I really like you, Patrick,” he said. He tried his best to hold eye contact, but he wasn’t very good at this and so his eyes occasionally drifted to other things, like the ground, or his hands, or Patrick’s hands. But they always found their way back. “I want this to happen… but that,” David gestured towards where they had been standing with Brian, “that felt like a rejection.”

Patrick’s face, which had lit up at David’s confirmation of his feelings, morphed into embarrassment. Shame, maybe. David didn’t like that this was his fault, but they needed to have this conversation.

“I know, David… God,” Patrick buried his face in his hands, “I like you so much.” He glanced up through his eyelashes; the same look that set David’s heart fluttering. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just panicked when I saw Brian… I’m not, uh, I’m not out to anyone else, David. Only you.”

“Oh,” David said, his focus split between _I like you so much_ and _I’m not out to anyone else_. How could he form words that would do either of those sentiments justice?

“It’s easy to be vulnerable with you, David. You make me feel safe. It’s hard with other people, to be… myself, I guess.”

David had never felt important to other people before. He felt important now. He felt important to Patrick.

This time when David threaded their fingers together, Patrick didn’t pull away.

What Patrick was going through, this fear, this hesitancy to offer up private information about himself to other people, this was something David could relate to. Maybe not in regards to his sexuality, not anymore, but in a more general sense, David still had trouble sharing pieces of himself with the world. He couldn’t blame Patrick for working through this at his own pace. But he could support him.

“You called me your friend,” David said, and when Patrick looked at him like he wasn’t following, David continued, “When you introduced me to Brian, you called me your friend. Is that what you want me to be?” Because David could do that, would do that, if it was what Patrick needed.

“No, David… Just… What was I supposed to do? Introduce you as the guy I want to date when _we_ hadn’t even talked about it yet?”

“No, I guess not,” David said, and though he knew they were having a serious conversation, it hurt his face to contain his smile. So he didn’t. Patrick wanted to _date him._

“I’m sorry, David. You didn’t sign up for this,” Patrick said. He squeezed David’s hand and David squeezed back.

“I did,” David said.

“What?”

“I did sign up for this. Or I’d like to, if you’d let me?” David said and Patrick’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Is there a form? Or an application? I don’t actually have a pen on me, but I could sign with charcoal if that’s allowed? I know it’s not very professional and I wouldn’t want to do anything to void the contract, so…” David shifted the conversation back into familiar territory and marveled at the change a little teasing had on Patrick’s demeanor.

“Okay David,” he said. The unrecognizable man from earlier was gone and his Patrick was back.

_His Patrick._

His Patrick, whose eyes were glowing with something a lot like affection, whose smile lit up his face at the same time it lit a fire inside David. His Patrick was leaning a lot closer now and David watched as Patrick’s gaze dropped to his mouth and then shot back up again.

His Patrick, who wanted David to kiss him.

David brought his hand up to rest on Patrick’s neck, his thumb grazing gently over his cheek. He leaned in, but paused when his mouth was less than an inch from Patrick’s. He just had to be sure.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, as if any loud noise might invite the world into a moment that was only for them.

“Yes,” Patrick said, impossibly quiet. David wouldn’t be sure he had heard it at all, if not for Patrick’s breath on his skin as he breathed out the word.

David had always loved the moment just before a kiss. The moment when you knew you were going kiss someone or be kissed by someone. It was exciting and affirming and often, if David was honest, better than the kiss itself. David had kissed a lot of people, but rarely had a kiss been just a kiss. Kissing was most often a prelude, a precursor to sex. Something you did to warm up, or to pass time, to keep up momentum until you found somewhere private.

When David finally kissed Patrick, finally managed to close the space between them and press their lips together, it was suddenly clear that he had spent his time kissing the wrong people. If this was a proper kiss, David had never been properly kissed in his life. Only with Patrick, only right now, had David been so completely focused on a kiss without thinking ahead, thinking about the next step. He had rarely kissed just to kiss, but with Patrick, kissing was everything.

It didn’t last very long; it was fairly simple as far as kisses went. What little brainpower David had, that had not been fried by the first touch of Patrick’s lips on his, was focused on committing this kiss to memory. The taste of Patrick’s mouth, the warmth and surprising softness of his lips, their hands still twisted together between them, and even the way Patrick other hand was gripping desperately at David’s sweater. He’d worry about that later.

David kept his eyes closed for a moment after they broke apart, not quite ready for it to be over. He allowed himself to live in that moment for a second longer. He didn’t know when he might get to kiss Patrick again, _if_ he’d get to kiss Patrick again.

David finally opened his eyes. Patrick was staring at him, eyes bright, and a new kind of smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t unfamiliar, though. It was every one of Patrick’s best smiles stacked on top of one another and if David had been cataloging them all, this would certainly be his favorite.

It took all of David’s restraint not to kiss him again. Patrick, however, had no such reservations.

Patrick pulled him in for a second kiss. It was shorter, but sweeter in that it told David he didn’t have to worry. First kisses, while theirs had been fantastic, were merely experiments—a test to see whether or not you wanted to do it again. A second kiss was the affirmative answer to the first kiss’s question.

David cleared his throat. His head was spinning and if he stared at Patrick much longer he’d have trouble standing.

“Coffee?” David said. They both stood and Patrick nodded.

“Tea, actually,” he clarified, and David realized that, if he wanted to, he could kiss that smug grin off his face. As it was, he let the grin stay. They couldn’t monopolize the bench all day. It was only fair to let other students have a turn.

They walked towards the coffee shop, their fingers still twined together. David took a moment to appreciate just how well they fit.

There were still things to be discussed, details to work out. David wanted to be sure they were on the same page. That this was right for both of them.

But all of that could wait until later. Right now, David had a date. Or, well…

“Patrick?” David said.

“Yes?”

“Is this a date?” He asked.

“Yeah, David,” Patrick said, “this is a date.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm very sorry that this chapter took so long! The chapters are getting harder to write as I actually try to follow plot points and like... develop characters? When I started writing this I never really intended for it to turn into a coming out story, but I guess that's what happened when you write about Patrick Brewer for the first time.
> 
> On that note, this chapter does talk a lot about coming out and the Struggles that come along with that, so if that's not your jam, please skip!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!! Love you all and I hope everyone is staying safe and like, actively trying to become a better person!

“Hi, uh, can I get a medium early grey and a medium caramel macchiato with skim, please,” Patrick said to the barista. She nodded, but before she could grab a paper cup from the stack beside her, David interrupted.

“Actually, can we make the macchiato a large? Thanks,” he said. When Patrick looked at him, eyebrows raised, he added, “You’re still paying, right?”

Unbelievable.

“Yeah, David, _this_ time,” Patrick said as he dropped some spare change in the tip jar. They moved out of line to wait for their drinks.

“What a gentleman,” David said, and when he squeezed Patrick’s shoulders, Patrick thought he’d be willing to buy David a large coffee every day for an entire year if it meant he’d never stop touching him.

“Date number two is on you, though,” he said. He was still a business major after all. Fiscal responsibility wasn’t something you could ignore just for the sake of romance.

David bit his cheek to contain his smile.

“Okay, we’ll just have to do something cheap. Or free. Maybe a walk in the park? Or a library date,” he said.

“A library date? Is that a thing?” Patrick wasn’t opposed to the idea, but it didn’t exactly seem ‘on brand’ for David.

“Sure.”

“Doesn’t sound very romantic.”

“It can be,” David said. He wiggled his eyebrows and Patrick understood immediately what kind of romance was to be had on a library date.

“Right, well,” Patrick cleared his throat and hoped the blush creeping up his cheeks could pass for wind-burn from the cold weather, “I look forward to… that.”

David’s smile was devious, and for the first time Patrick was able to recognize it for what it was. In the past, he’d always thought this smile meant David was laughing at him—purposefully making suggestive remarks to get a reaction, to highlight, once again, how naïve he thought Patrick was. There was a smugness to it, a satisfaction in the lines of his face that only appeared when he had made Patrick blush. While that still held true, considering the circumstances, Patrick could see that he’d read David’s motivations wrong.

David wasn’t teasing Patrick—he was flirting. And though it’s true the two were often intertwined when it came to their rapport, the newfound distinction made Patrick’s knees weak. David liked him.

David liked him. David liked him. _David liked him._

He still couldn’t believe it.

With adrenaline and something a lot like confidence pulsing through him, Patrick slipped his hand behind David’s neck and pulled him into a quick kiss. He kept it clean—they were in public, after all—but there was enough heat behind it to serve its intended purpose.

Now they were both blushing.

Patrick didn’t want to admit to counting kisses, but he was totally counting kisses. There were three now. Three kisses with David Rose, and they’d only just begun.

Their first kiss had sent Patrick ascending.

All of his feelings—his nervousness, excitement, his satisfaction, relief, _oh god the relief_ —threatened to knock him sideways. David had launched him skyward while simultaneously remaining the only tether Patrick had to keep himself Earth-bound. In the haze of it all, he’d hardly been present enough to appreciate the actual kissing.

He’d appreciated the actual kissing the second time around.

After their second kiss, Patrick began to understand what _right_ felt like.

He had never known such a deep-rooted satisfaction before. Was it because he had kissed a man? Or because the man he had kissed was David? If he’d managed to kiss another man, like that guy at the party, would it have felt the same? Patrick didn’t think so.

This was all David. David’s mouth, his taste. David’s hands. Just… _David._

He was surprised how calm he felt, kissing David in a coffee shop full of strangers. There was a certain anonymity that allowed him to be whoever he wanted—or more accurately, that allowed him to be himself.

When Patrick pulled back from the kiss, the dazed look on David’s face made him want to lean back in. He would have too, if he hadn’t known how incorrect David found PDA. That conversation had happened a few weeks ago and was the result of Jake kissing another student rather passionately in the hallway before class had started.

“There are just some things you don’t do,” David had said.

Patrick had thought at the time that David was maybe still hung up on Jake, and that had planted a rare seed of jealousy in Patrick’s gut. The feeling had been so unfamiliar and so uncomfortable that he’d buried it with one of his usual quips.

“Wow, David, I didn’t know you were such a prude,” he’d said.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew half the things I could do with my tongue,” David had replied, rolling his eyes.

Patrick would have chosen the discomfort of jealousy, if he’d known how the thoughts that plagued him for the remainder of class would leave him with an entirely different kind of discomfort.

Many of those thoughts resurfaced as Patrick stood beside David, conjured by the sudden realization that he could now find out exactly what David’s tongue was capable of.

Why hadn’t he planned a less public first date?

“So,” Patrick said, searching for any thread of conversation that might lead his thoughts to safer territory.

“So,” David said as they grabbed their drinks. He added two sweeteners to his already toxic coffee, and mixed them in before adding a sprinkle of cocoa powder on top. He capped it and followed Patrick to an empty table.

“Can I ask about the coffee?” Patrick said.

“What about it?”

“It’s very… specific, your coffee order.” Patrick had followed the only thread of conversation immediately available, but now that he was asking, he found he was genuinely curious.

“Have you not yet figured out that I am a very detail oriented person?” David asked, a bit of humor playing at his lips.

“Oh no, I have,” Patrick assured him.

“Okay so what’s the problem?” David liked to act inconvenienced and mulish every time Patrick asked him a question about himself, like he would never figure out that maybe all Patrick was trying to do was get to know him better and not, in fact, planning some sort of character assassination.

Patrick had noticed that David offered plenty of information about himself, often too much information, but only when he intended to deflect or protect himself. Every quip about his sister or his past lovers was meant to deter people, to keep everyone at an arms-length, and never as an invitation to get to know more. Patrick assumed it usually worked, based on David’s history of loneliness and bad relationships. Neither of which had a place here, if Patrick had anything to say about it.

“There’s not a problem, David. I’m just… trying to figure out what goes on in your head.” He reached toward David, as if to knock on his head, knowing he would never even get close. David flinched away and smacked Patrick’s hand for good measure. “Like, a sprinkle of cocoa powder? Does that even do anything? Can you even taste it?”

“Honestly, it’s more about the smell?” David said. In demonstration, he inhaled and let out a pleased hum. It was cute and Patrick was happy.

“The smell,” he said.

“Yes, it smells nice. It’s comforting.”

“Comforting.”

“Okay now you’re just repeating words. It’s comforting!” David said, his voice taking on the shrillness that Patrick had grown to find charming. “I like comforting things! I like… expensive sweaters and I like high thread-count sheets! I like hand knit alpaca throw blankets and… and—yes, I like a sprinkle of cocoa powder in my coffee! If that makes me pompous or—or difficult, well then that’s just how I am! You might have to learn to deal with it, if—if…”

“Okay, David.”

“’Okay, David’?”

“Look who’s repeating words now,” Patrick said, the smile he’d repressed during David’s little tirade finally spreading across his face.

“You don’t have anything more to say than ‘okay’?”

“Not really. So you’re a little pretentious. I like it.” Patrick cleared his throat. “I like _you_ , if that wasn’t clear.”

David bit his top lip, but he couldn’t really keep his smile from reaching his eyes. The words had obviously pleased him—or some of the words, anyway.

“Would we really use the word pretentious, though?” He said.

“Well, you already took ‘pompous’, so I might need to check a thesaurus if you demand a date with a more expansive vocabulary. Now, I’ve noticed both words begin with P—are we married to that consonant, or—“

“You’re annoying.”

“I prefer pesky,” Patrick said, emphasis on the P.

“I don’t want to date anymore.”

“That’s a shame. I guess I’ll have to go to the library by myself,” Patrick said, and when David’s eyes sparkled with interest, he added, “You know, to borrow the thesaurus.”

“That is _not_ what a library date it for,” David said. He was trying his best to appear grumpy, but Patrick could tell his heart wasn’t in it. The pout just wouldn’t stick.

Patrick leaned across the table to kiss David again. He pulled back but remained firmly in David’s space.

“I know what a library date is for,” he whispered.

_Kiss number four_ , he thought.

Their date was everything Patrick had wanted it to be. They sat together for nearly three hours, talking long after their drinks had gone cold, teasing each other and taking advantage of the freedom to blatantly stare at one-another. David nudged Patrick’s foot with his own a couple of times and was even bold enough to run his foot up the back of Patrick’s calf, and if the gesture alone didn’t thrill him (it did), then it certainly did to know it was done on purpose. The days of pretending each touch was an accident were over.

It was also nice to discover that their spark was real and not just a classroom romance induced by inhaling too many toxic chemicals. Though it was certainly possible that David’s coffee needed to come with a warning label.

When they finally left the coffee shop, just before they parted ways, David took it upon himself to initiate kiss number five. It was soft and gentle, and if possible, better than all the others. There was a little taste of tongue, and Patrick couldn’t help but wonder if David was giving him something to hold him over.

“Talk tomorrow?” Patrick asked. They both had busy Wednesdays and wouldn’t see each other until class on Thursday. They had been texting nearly everyday anyway, but Patrick wanted David to know he was already looking forward to the next time they could talk.

David nodded and they regretfully parted—David to walk one way and Patrick to walk the other.

Having let David borrow his scarf, Patrick warmed himself with memories instead. They had kissed five times today.

Five kisses with David Rose.

It’s not that Patrick was keeping score—it wasn’t a competition—but he had initiated three of those kisses. It felt good to finally _want_ to kiss someone. To be so enticed by David’s mouth that he couldn’t resist leaning in—so unlike how things had been with Rachel.

Things with David could be so good—they _were so good_. All Patrick had to do was not screw it up. He had almost ruined things today, before they even started. Everything had turned out okay, but he couldn’t ignore the guilt that sat in his stomach, heavier with every step he took away from David.

He wanted so desperately to be what David deserved. David had been in so many bad relationships, with people who weren’t proud to be with him. Patrick _was_ proud. He was terrified at the prospect of coming out—it was a big deal, but it seemed less daunting if he could do it with David beside him.

He’d reacted poorly before. It had been a reflex more than anything, one rooted in a discomfort he’d felt his entire life. Flirting with David, holding hands… These things felt intimate. They _were_ intimate. It was all very new to Patrick, and while it felt good—right, it felt _right_ —he didn’t want an audience while he figured things out.

So maybe he hadn’t set out to hurt David, but regardless, David _had_ been hurt. Even though it had all been Patrick’s fault, David had been incredibly understanding. He was supportive and patient. Was Patrick taking advantage? Was it right of him to drag David along while he sorted through all of the baggage he was carrying? Did this not make him just like all of David’s nefarious exes?

The thought turned Patrick’s stomach. He didn’t want to be like all the others. He didn’t want to hurt David that way. He _wouldn’t_ hurt David that way.

_So, Brewer, what are you going to do?_

Guilt and fear and glee churned in his stomach, each emotion tied to David in one way or another.

There was so much to say to David still, so many assurances left to give. But even acknowledging the mess he had made couldn’t trample Patrick’s pleasure. He was so happy to finally know what he wanted, to finally understand himself better. If shame insisted on being carried around alongside his happiness, then he’d just have to make room.

He would just have to keep telling himself that they would work it out. That David wanted this too. Even if things were shaky now, he had to hope that they’d find themselves on steady ground eventually.

It was worth anything— _everything_ , Patrick thought, to be able to fall asleep and dream about David’s lips on his.

Thursday couldn’t come soon enough. If Patrick had struggled with thoughts of David while they were nothing more than friends, then he struggled twice as much now that they were… _something_ more than friends.

Everything played out strikingly similar to how it had before—that was probably Patrick’s fault. David was being so careful, every touch and look so calculated, casual enough that nobody would suspect. It was nice, that David was letting Patrick lead. He was grateful—he was, but he was also incredibly frustrated. He wanted everybody to know that David was—that he and David were… together. He wanted everybody to know, he just didn’t want to tell them.

David had brought him tea again, but rather than just allow their fingers to brush together, Patrick fit his entire hand over David’s and squeezed, before he took the cup. David’s entire face lit up, like he too forgot, in the day they had spent apart, just how good it felt to touch.

When David’s fingers trailed along his back as he passed, or when Patrick teased him about proper painting attire—‘ _why would you even risk wearing a $600 sweater around_ paint _, David?’_ —there was something new about it, something charged and exciting. It wasn’t altogether unfamiliar, they’d done this dance one thousand times already, but they had never acknowledged that these things meant more than what they appeared to be on the surface.

It was affection. Layered under all the cheeky jabs and casual touches, there was affection. A _shared_ affection. Different from before—because make no mistake, the affection had definitely been there before—in that it was reciprocated and acknowledged. More freely given.

Every time their eyes met it was an acknowledgment of their scheming. They were co-conspirators, accomplices, partners in crime.

Or maybe just partners.

Was it too soon for labels? Was David Patrick’s—did Patrick have a _boyfriend_? Is that what this was? Patrick had been a boyfriend before, but he’d never had a boyfriend. The word echoed differently in his head, and he had to admit that it sounded good.

What did David think about labels? Would he want that? Were they even exclusive? Was David seeing other people?

They hadn’t gotten that far in the discussion yet.

Patrick had never been here before. David had, but even with all of his experience, he seemed to tread lightly around other people. Like he’d never quite mastered the emotional aspect of relationships—Patrick didn’t doubt that he’d mastered the physical aspect long ago.

Patrick had no idea how to talk about his feelings without scaring David away. He didn’t know what would be too much to handle.

Patrick’s heart ached for David. Neither one of them had experience with successful relationships, but at least Rachel had always appreciated Patrick. Respected him. Patrick didn’t think David had ever experienced that.

So maybe they were on more even ground than Patrick had previously thought.

He didn’t have a lot of experience with sex or passion, but he could treat David right. He could show David how it felt to be cherished.

Oh god, did Patrick _cherish_ David?

He did, didn’t he?

Patrick cherished David and he wanted to tell him. Wanted to grab his face and look into his eyes and declare his feelings. He could already tell how great _that_ would go over.

He’d say something sincere like, “David Rose, I cherish you.” And David would make that face like he’d just eaten a lemon. He wouldn’t like that at all, except that maybe he actually would.

Patrick wouldn’t tell him. He’d save it for… later, when David was maybe more ready to hear it.

If he couldn’t share his great, big feelings with David, at least he could share them with his therapist.

“We kissed,” he said, after exchanging the appropriate pleasantries.

“You and David?” She asked, and her need to clarify boosted Patrick’s ego, like she believed him capable of juggling multiple potential suitors at once.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And I am definitely gay,” Patrick forced a laugh, like this wasn’t the pinnacle of everything they’d been discussing for over a month. Longer really. Just because the conversation hadn’t been about his sexuality when he’d started therapy, doesn’t mean it hadn’t had anything to do with it.

“I’m really happy for you Patrick. This is a pretty big deal—“

“Thank you,” Patrick said, suddenly too overcome with gratitude to allow his therapist to finish her thought. “I may never have—you’ve been a really big help and I just really appreciate—thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Patrick. I’m glad things have been easier for you,” She said. Her smile never seemed forced.

“They have. It’s like a weight’s been lifted, but…”

“But?”

“I still don’t know… how to, how to tell people,” Patrick confessed.

“Patrick, you don’t—“

“I know I don’t have to… but I want to! I do, but every time I think about it, it’s like there’s this… pit in my stomach…like dread or—or fear,” Patrick said and he could feel the familiar lump forming in the back of his throat, the one that appeared every time they had this conversation.

“I think you’ll get there, Patrick, I do. You’ve made so much progress. I know it’s important to you, but you don’t need to pressure yourself to do this before you’re ready.”

“I know, but David…”

“Is _he_ pressuring you to come out?”

“No! No—David would never—he’s… David is _perfect_ , okay?” Patrick said, and he couldn’t help but think back to all the times he’d sat in this same exact spot and told his therapist that Rachel was perfect. The word had felt so different then—it was _Rachel is perfect and I don’t understand why I can’t love her_ versus _David is perfect and I can’t wait to fall in love him._ It was funny how many words sounded brand new because of David. “He’s not a patient person—like not at all. He’s the kind of person who actually pays for express shipping, okay? But he’s patient with me, with _this_ … he’ll give me however long I need… I’m just afraid I won’t be able to tell when me taking my time turns into me taking advantage. I don’t want to avoid the uncomfortable conversation just because he’ll let me.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Patrick. We’ve talked about this before, right? It was the same thing when you resisted taking the art class—because it’s not something you’re particularly good at, you didn’t want to do it at all.”

“How is that the same thing?”

“Well, I think you’re viewing your entire journey with your sexuality as something you can… conquer, or ace. You’re a perfectionist and you have strict guidelines for yourself. It was like you’d made yourself a checklist from the beginning. You came in here that day thinking you might be gay and you immediately wanted all the answers, do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“It’s okay to give yourself some time to learn, to adjust. You don’t need to be an expert immediately, and that applies to every aspect of your life, okay? It’s also okay to lean on people. I think that if David is the person you think he is, the person you’ve led me to believe he is, that his patience and his support are genuine. I don’t think they come with strings attached,” His therapist said. She’d been gentle with her analysis previously, but this time it punched Patrick square in the gut. He couldn’t even pretend that she wasn’t right—Patrick hated failing. Why did he feel like he was failing?

“What do I do?” He said.

“I can’t tell you what to do here, Patrick. All I can suggest is that you talk to David, and maybe try to be patient with yourself as well,” she said.

Patrick couldn’t respond. She was right again.

The best place for privacy ended up being Patrick’s dorm-room. David’s apartment was off limits—he had some agenda against Patrick meeting Stevie, the why of it left unsaid.

So on Friday night they ordered a Pizza and hung out in Patrick’s dorm. David made himself comfortable in Patrick’s twin bed, and just the sight of a boy in his bed set Patrick’s heart racing. Or maybe his heart was racing because they were about to _talk._

“I just wanted to say that I, uh, I appreciate how patient you’re being, David,” Patrick said, discomfort pooling in his stomach.

“Patient? It’s been fifteen minutes. I’ve waited over an hour before for good pizza. This one time, when we lived in New York—“

“Not about the pizza, David. Patient with _me_.”

David finally looked up and it was one of those rare times when Patrick couldn’t fully read his expression. David was biting his cheek, but not the way he did when he was trying not to smile. This was a serious David face, somewhere between concern and confusion.

“It’s just,” Patrick continued, “I know you’ve been in situations like this before…”

“I’ve never been in a situation like this before,” David said and Patrick had no idea what he could possibly mean.

“You literally told be last week that your ex liked to call you ‘his dirty little secret’ and wouldn’t even look at you if you happened to show up to the same party.”

“So you’re saying I’m your “dirty little secret’?” David wasn’t mad, which is how Patrick could tell he wasn’t taking this conversation seriously.

“What? No, of course not!”

“Okay,” David said and went back to looking at his phone, like the conversation was over.

“Would you—David, put the phone down,” Patrick practically begged.

David tossed his head back in exasperation, but then he threw his phone down onto the bed and looked at Patrick. He raised his eyebrows in a silent gesture for Patrick to continue.

“I don’t want you to think—just because I’m not out… I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you… Or that I’m not—serious about you.” Patrick’s stomach was in knots and the words nearly stuck in his throat, but he forced them out, the urge to confess a little too much overtaking him in the moment.

David’s face melted into something more recognizable. He rearranged himself in the bed, tossing his legs over the side, so that he could grab Patrick’s hands. It was surprisingly intimate.

“I don’t care how long it takes you,” he said. Patrick knew he was being supportive and—and sweet, even, but the words left him frustrated, not charmed. Why wouldn’t anyone _push_ him?

“David, I need you to—I’m trying so hard not to be like everyone else that you’ve dated!”

“You’re not like anyone I’ve dated before, Patrick.”

“Good! And I’d like to keep it that way!”

“This is a very personal thing. You should only come out when you’re ready,” David said. Patrick let go of his hands and sat on the bed beside him.

“Well, just… how long are you going to give me? A month? Two months? A year, David? What if it takes me a _year_?”

“You think we’ll still be together in a year?” The delight that spread across David’s face nearly derailed Patrick, but he didn’t want to get caught up in fantasizing about the future.

“I’m not playing these games with you, David!”

“I’m not going to put you on a timeline, Patrick!”

“I wish you would! I respond very well to deadlines!” His therapist’s words about checklists and conquering his sexuality echoed in the back of his mind. If he were this transparent to everyone, he wouldn’t have to bother coming out at all. They could just read the gay all over him. That didn’t sound too bad, actually.

“This isn’t an assignment!” David shouted.

“Why are you being like this?”

“What do you want me to do? _Force_ you out of the closet?”

“Maybe!”

“Patrick, I would _never_ do that,” David said, almost horrified. Or not almost. He was horrified.

“Listen, David—“

“No, you listen—“ David said, forcefully cutting Patrick off. “Sorry, that came out way harsher—the point is,” David had regained some of his calm, “Everyone struggles with this. It’s not just you.”

“Did _you_ struggle?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, of course I believe you. You just… seem like you’ve always known who you are.” Patrick had always been jealous of confident people. He could pretend pretty well, but he’d never really been one of them.

“I have—that doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard to let other people know who I am.”

Patrick felt like an asshole. He’d been acting like David couldn’t possibly understand—but of course he could.

“Will you… tell me about it? About coming out?”

“Yeah, yes. Sure.” David visibly swallowed and furrowed his brow. He was about to be incredibly open and vulnerable with Patrick. Even though David had just admitted it was difficult for him to let people know him, he was doing his best to let Patrick know him. And knowing that left Patrick feeling warm all over.

He pressed a soft kiss to David’s temple and waited for him to talk.

“I was… seventeen, I think? Maybe sixteen—I can’t be sure. Um, some people knew before that, of course, but I hadn’t, um, I hadn’t actually told anyone.” David wouldn’t make eye contact, but stared at Patrick’s hands instead. If that made it easier, Patrick didn’t mind. “But I’d been with a few different people by that point, so word got around I guess. My parents didn’t pay enough attention to notice anyone I might have brought home, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they… thought I was gay? Um, a lot of people think—but I never really intended to have that talk with them, that’s not… that’s not the kind of relationship we had. I thought they’d either figure it out or they wouldn’t and it didn’t matter much either way.”

David was still staring at Patrick’s hands, so Patrick turned his palm upwards and rested it on his knee, an invitation to hold it, if David wanted. He didn’t—until he did. He let a silent moment pass before slipping his hand into Patrick’s and twining their fingers together.

“But apparently some kids do talk to their parents, because soon it wasn’t just people in my circle who were gossiping, but my parents friends too.”

“That’s awful, David.”

“It’s—what it is. I guess someone must have said something to my parents and they must have—been embarrassed? That a stranger knew more about what was going on with their kid than they did?” David always had a hard time talking about his parents. If half the things he told Patrick were true, there was a lot of resentment for David to work through. Patrick could tell that David loved his parents—and that must make it awfully hard to also kind of hate them.

“How did they react?”

“Oh they were fine, I guess. My dad tried to talk to me about safe sex, which was a frightening conversation, but not nearly as bad as the time he tried to talk to me about hockey.”

“And your mom?”

“She—she oscillated between pride that I was interesting enough to warrant gossip—which, yikes—and jealousy that she wasn’t the Rose being talked about that week.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t know my mother.”

“I guess not,” Patrick said, pausing for a moment to think about how a meeting with Moira Rose would go.

“I mean, she’s not always like that. Um, after about a week of gossip, she ended up… shifting the focus.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that she got a little… _messy…_ at this really big party and, uh, nobody really talked about me much after that.”

“Oh,” Patrick said, mentally substituting words for messy. High, sloppy, drunk.

“Yeah I don’t know for sure, and she’d definitely deny it—but… It might have been like… some sort of—like, motherly…”

“Maternal instinct?” Patrick suggested.

“Ew, no.” David made his sour lemon face.

“Love?”

“Absolutely not,” David said, looking absolutely repulsed, like Patrick had said something truly vulgar.

“Sounds kind of like love, David.”

“I don’t think so.” He shook his head in big swooping motions.

“Sounds like a very weird, very complicated form of motherly love.”

“Okay stop saying that.”

“It was love, David—“

“Stop—“

“She loves—“

“I swear if you don’t—“

“—you, David. She loves you,” Patrick said and David kissed him then, likely with the intention to shut him up, but he was smiling into the kiss and so Patrick didn’t regret anything.

They broke apart but Patrick kept his hands on David’s face.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said. David nodded as best as he could, sandwiched as he was between Patrick’s hands.

Patrick reluctantly set David’s face free, only so that his hands could find a new perch on David’s thighs. David’s hands found their place on Patrick’s shoulders, where they had already spent a lot of time in the few days since their first date.

“I’m sorry you’ve struggled, Patrick. That you’ve… been in pain, not knowing who you are,” David said.

“Yeah,” Patrick said, but it was more breath than sound.

“Do you think you know who you are now?”

“Better than I ever have.”

“Then isn’t that something to… celebrate?” David said. “Not something to feel guilty over or—or something to… rush through? It’s okay to just be in this moment, for a while. No stress. No guilt. No pain.”

If Patrick had a choice, he’d have chosen to be in this moment—with David—forever. It was a pretty good one, as far as moments go.

“Okay, I think… I think I can—try that.” Patrick exhaled slowly, and with his breath he tried to send all of the tension out of his body.

“I’m glad,” David said. He trailed a finger down Patrick’s face and swiped his thumb across Patrick’s bottom lip. It did more to sooth Patrick than any deep breathing exercise ever had.

“Can I just say one more thing, though?” They were obviously heading into the less talkative portion of the night, and Patrick thought it important to finish the conversation before he forgot all the grammatical rules of the English language.

“If you must,” David said with a delicate swish of his wrist.

“You’ve told me before that you’ve rarely been the one to… break things off.”

“That’s true.”

“I just want you to know… that you can. With me. That you _should_ , if I ever disappoint you.” Patrick didn’t want to think about an end to David—it was the last thing he wanted to think about. But David had stayed in so many bad relationships because he had thought he didn’t deserve better.

“I appreciate you saying so, Patrick.”

“I mean it,” Patrick said. David rolled his eyes, and everything dissolved into silliness after that.

“Okay, but before you make that offer, you should know I’ll be very disappointed if you ever where these specific jeans again, so.”

“Right… I’ll just amend my original statement to exclude any wardrobe related disappointments? I’d really like if you didn’t break up with me over a pair of pants, David.”

“That’s not a promise I’m comfortable making,” David said, but he was smiling and leaning in again and when their lips finally pressed together Patrick swore he could taste a hundred different promises that David _was_ comfortable making.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I've written over 40,000 words? Incredible.
> 
> Anyway thank you to everyone who's sticking with me! I appreciate all the love <3
> 
> If you want to say hi, you can find me on tumblr as hagface.

They’d been on several successful dates—two to the café, another to the same coffee shop, a couple of casual dates in Patrick’s dorm room—before their first unsuccessful date rolled around. 

Their first  _ bad _ date—might as well call it what it was. It was a bad date.

The qualifications for a bad date differed, depending on who you asked—Patrick or David. A lot had to go wrong in order to check off every box on both of their lists.

In Patrick’s opinion, an unsuccessful date was when every plan he had fell apart and he was forced to improvise. It might also include an impromptu hike in the unexpected rain and him dissolving into the flustered and overwhelmed version of himself he did not like people to see—especially if that person was David.

According to David, an unsuccessful date was a date with no kissing, no food, and it all happened outdoors. It might also include a ruined sweater and ending the night feeling physically and emotionally uncomfortable in his own skin.

David was tired. He wanted the whole night to be over. He hated arguing with Patrick—he felt like every disagreement they had, even the little ones, pushed them closer and closer to the end of...whatever this was. 

They hadn’t even labeled it yet and already David worried that they might be closer to the end than the beginning.

He didn’t always mean to be… the way that he was. Most of the time he didn’t even realize he was being difficult until people got sick of him and cited one too many instances of said difficulty.

He’d never felt too difficult for Patrick. Before tonight.

The date had been a disaster. David was a firm believer that kissing could solve almost anything, but they’d both been in such rotten moods by the end of the night that there was no kissing to be had. David didn’t know, truthfully, who was more to blame for the overall awfulness of the night—he certainly held Patrick accountable for the evening hike that turned into a wet and muddy mess, but it was also possible that David was quick to aggravate and that his attitude may have spurred Patrick’s own irritation into fruition. David wished he could be the kind of person to just let things go, but he couldn’t—he’d never been that kind of person and he likely never would be.

He was sure that was why so many of his relationships blew up in his face. Maybe it was better that Patrick learned this early on.

David could taste the frustration on his tongue, a bitterness that wouldn’t disappear no matter how many times he swallowed. It always managed to make itself known, either through whining or blaming. Tonight, there was a little bit of both. 

“I just think, if you had made a reservation…” David said.

“David! It’s a café! They don’t take reservations!”

“Well—”

“So you’re not going to take any of the blame? At all?” Patrick was clenching his jaw in an uncharacteristic display of annoyance—he usually had endless patience for David, it was remarkable—but David had really been in rare form tonight. He knew he should at least share the blame, maybe even offer his own apology, but one of his favorite sweaters was likely unsalvageable and he was still shivering from the rain so...

“Me? I hardly think—”

“The movie theater, David? We could be at the theater right now with… with popcorn and pizza and all your favorite junk food. But you  _ refused _ —”

“Okay but they only had four movies to choose from? And two of them, Patrick—not one, but two of them were Meryl Streep films.”

“What’s wrong with Meryl Streep?”

“I promised my mother a very long time ago that I would never support her competition.”

“Meryl Streep—is your mother’s competition?” Patrick tried to rein in his disbelief, but even so, David was a little insulted on his mother’s behalf.

“She beat out my mother for, like, four different roles. My mom was this close to landing The Devil Wears Prada—we still get a Christmas card from Stanley Tucci every year.”

“Okay fine,” Patrick said, with a half-hearted roll of his eyes, “but that still left us with two other movies—”

“A horror film or a documentary about lyme disease? No thank you.”

“But I was willing to watch any one of them. It was _ your _ decision not to stay.”

“Fine!” David tried to keep his voice level, but he had already done the blaming and so now the whining demanded its turn. “That part was my fault. But what, out of everything you know about me, made you think an evening  _ hike _ was a good idea?”

“I don’t know David! I thought it would be romantic! And I thought, forgive me, that you were capable of following simple instructions!”

“Well I thought you were capable of checking the weather!”

“I told you to watch your step!”

“Mud, Patrick! Mud everywhere!” David gestured to his entire body, which did indeed have mud everywhere. Patrick looked him up and down—not in the way he would have preferred—and seemed to deflate.

“I’m sorry, David,” he said with a sigh. “I promise I will check the weather before I take you on another hike.”

“It is going to take a—a miracle! To  _ ever _ get me on another hike, Patrick.” David’s anger was deflating as quickly as Patrick’s had. It was hard to stay mad when Patrick looked at him with his round puppy-dog eyes.

“I will make it up to you, David,” he said. A warmth bloomed in David’s stomach, but there was guilt nestled beside it. How long would Patrick be willing to put up with David’s more unflattering attributes? How long would he put up with  _ David _ ?

“You’ll pay for my dry cleaning?” David joked, an attempt to ease the night’s strife.

“Who am I, Bill Gates?” Patrick was finally smiling and, god—that was the cure. David couldn’t help the small smile that twisted his mouth in response. 

“How then?” he said.

“Tomorrow night? We’ll have a do-over?”

“And it will be—“

“Indoors, yes.”

“And there will be—“

“Plenty of food—whatever kind of take-out you want.”

“And—“

“Kissing, a lot of kissing, I know.” And, as if to demonstrate just how seriously he took these requirements, Patrick leaned in and kissed David, softly, on the mouth. It was pure relief, what David felt. As long as Patrick kept kissing him and making plans, nothing was ending. Not yet.

“I’ll have to check with Stevie. I already canceled on her tonight—to make  _ this _ happen.”

“All right, well please tell her I’m very sorry for stealing you away two nights in a row and that I hope she won’t hold it against me when we finally meet—“

“Which won’t be for a very long time—“

“And that there are homemade baked goods in her future.”

“Absolutely not,” David said.

“Why? Stevie’s not a fan of pastries?”

“Stevie’s a fan of powdered donuts from the dollar store, so? We won’t be wasting your mom’s baking on her,” David explained.

“Then powdered donuts from the dollar store she shall have,” Patrick said with a wink.

David rolled his eyes, but he was feeling an unprecedented amount of affection for Patrick. He couldn’t explain it. They had spent hours bickering with each other and not one thing had gone the way they planned. He’d felt a combination of anger and guilt the entire night, he had been close to tears more than once, and yet now… something had replaced every single one of those bad emotions. 

Despite it all, they had ended up back where they began—teasing each other and making plans. 

“So, tomorrow?” Patrick said.

“Tomorrow,” David agreed, and despite how the night had gone, he was looking forward to it. Even his worst date with Patrick ranked higher than his best date with anyone else. 

David realized later that night, when he was climbing into bed and luxuriating in the comfort of his high thread-count sheets, that the feeling wasn’t entirely different from how he felt when he was with Patrick.

They spent the next night at Patrick’s, where everything was within their control. They picked the food, they picked the movie, and there was very little chance of David’s clothing being ruined. 

“Do you forgive me?” Patrick said, in between kissing David. They were curled up together in Patrick’s bed and he was making good on all of his promises from the night before.

“I don’t know,” David said. “I really loved that sweater.”

“Hm, I’ll just have to apologize again,” Patrick said. He pressed another kiss to David’s lips. “And again.” Another kiss, longer than the last. He began to trail kisses down David’s jaw until he lingered on an especially ticklish part of David’s neck. They were both giggling by the time they broke apart, but David didn’t want the kissing to be over.

“Mm, I think it was my favorite sweater actually, so…” 

David kissed Patrick again and pulled him closer, until Patrick was in his lap. They relaxed into the kiss and Patrick wrapped his arms around David’s neck.

David’s heartbeat might have picked up, but his mind was soothed by the sensation of Patrick. He flooded all of his senses—Patrick’s taste, his smell. David could hear Patrick breathing and feel the heave of his chest against his own. Patrick’s fingers pressed feather-light against David’s neck, a teasing sensation that gave David goosebumps. 

They had hardly stopped touching each other the entire night, even when they weren’t kissing. It had become a habit to touch, whether it was just sitting close enough that their arms brushed together, or David draping his legs over Patrick’s while they ate in his bed. 

David mused, once again, about how comfortable he felt around Patrick, how easy things could be. He’d never even come close to having this with anybody else—he’d never really  _ wanted _ it with anybody else. Physical contact was not something David typically craved, unless specifically tied to sex. 

With Patrick, though, touch was addicting. 

Touching Patrick was, in turn, both exciting and calming. It was sexual and casual. It was whatever David needed it to be from one moment to the next and he could only hope that his touch had the same effect on Patrick.

They spent most of the night in each other’s arms, but by the end of it David was curled up beside Patrick, doing his best not to take up too much room. David had a full size bed in his apartment now, but he had spent the better part of three years in a twin bed in the motel, so he wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the limited room. He was, however, unfamiliar with sharing a twin bed with another person. He found that he didn’t much mind being pressed up against Patrick from head to toe. The fact that the bedding smelled like him didn’t hurt either.

Yes, David was well on his way to a happy sleep. More than halfway there, in fact, when he was yanked back to consciousness by—something? Patrick?

Patrick was out of bed and frantically pulling clothes on—whatever he could grab. He looked frazzled—his hair was a mess, there was a hickey on his collarbone and every piece of fabric on his body was wrinkled, including David’s t-shirt, which he had grabbed in his rush to get dressed.

“One second!” He called.

“Wha—?” David was trying to piece together what was going on. 

“Someone’s at the door,” Patrick whispered.

David jerked in bed, unsure whether to get out of it or burrow deeper into the blankets. Patrick looked at him for a second before turning away to search for—David’s sweater, which he then chucked in David’s direction. David grabbed it and pulled it over his head.

Oh god, David wanted to disappear. He tried to make himself small by sinking further into the bed.

The knock came again and this time Patrick opened the door.

There was a moment when he didn’t say anything, where he just sort of… froze, but before David could wonder who would show up at Patrick’s dorm at 11 PM, Patrick had shaken himself out of his daze and he was saying…

“Rachel.” The name left his lips on an exhale and David hoped the quiver he heard in Patrick’s voice was from shock and not—longing, or something.

_ Disappear, disappear, disappear.  _ David chanted the words in his mind but didn’t know if they were directed towards himself or towards Rachel.

“Patrick, hi! Can I… come in?” Rachel’s voice was soft and smooth and warm and David hated the way it made him feel.

Patrick didn’t answer right away. He looked towards David, a frenzied panic in his eyes. But David could only answer with his own panicked expression. Patrick ran his hands through his hair before stepping aside.

“Sure, Rach. Come in.”

Rachel walked into the room and David suddenly felt like there was not enough space for three people in Patrick’s tiny dorm. Specifically, there wasn’t enough space for him—not in the room nor in the conversation that was about to happen.

David struggled to free himself from Patrick’s blankets, only now regretting how tightly wound among them he had been. He found his phone and was about to pull on his shoes when Patrick stopped him.

“What are you doing?” he said. David looked up to see both Patrick and Rachel staring at him with oddly similar expressions. Sure, Patrick’s curious gaze had more anxiety in it than Rachel’s, but the combined force would have knocked David off his feet if he hadn’t already been sitting down.

“I’m, uh, gonna go, I think,” David said and a moment later he was on his feet.

“No David, stay—”

“Actually, Patrick? I was kind of hoping we could talk? Alone?” Rachel said.

“Yes, you should… alone. I’ll go.”

“David—Rachel, David’s going to stay,” Patrick said firmly, with little room for debate. Then, softer, “Will you stay, David? Please?”

David glanced at Rachel. She didn’t give him her permission, but she wasn’t arguing either. Not that David cared. Patrick had asked him to stay, so he would stay.

“I’ll stay,” David said. 

Somewhere among the flush of Patrick’s cheeks and the tightness in his jaw, David saw a flash of relief.

There was a tense silence as both David and Rachel looked at Patrick, waiting for him to say something. Do something.

“Do you want to sit?” he said. It doesn’t matter who he was talking to—David sat on his bed and Rachel sat in the chair by his desk. Patrick sat next to David.

“Is everything okay, Patrick? Is there something going on?” Rachel asked.

“Yes,” Patrick said.

“Yes, everything is okay or yes, there’s something going on?”

Patrick looked at David, an assessment, a question. David tried to put all of his support in his eyes, tried to tell Patrick that whatever he wanted to do was okay. 

“You don’t have to,” David whispered. He reached out to rest his hand on Patrick’s thigh, but hesitated, deciding it might be best not to. The look in Patrick’s eyes changed—a decision. He grabbed David’s hand and turned to Rachel.

“David is my boyfriend,” he said.

_ Boyfriend. _

“Your… boyfriend?” she said. Her eyes settled briefly on their hands before she fixed them, with intention, on Patrick’s face.

_ Boyfriend. _

The word rang through David’s head, the rhythm of it like a heartbeat, unrelenting and life-giving.

_ Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend. _

David might have gasped, a small intake of breath that could only be heard by someone sitting right beside him. Patrick twitched in his direction, but kept his focus on Rachel. He squeezed David’s hand.

_ Boyfriend. _

“Yes,” Patrick said.

In the span of three seconds, so many emotions flashed across Rachel’s face, only half of which David could even begin to identify. There was a moment when he thought she might cry, or scream, or maybe even storm out of the room and slam the door—and there was another moment when he thought  _ he _ might be the one to cry, the echo of  _ boyfriend _ still so loud in his mind that it nearly demanded a physical reaction.

But when Rachel did none of that, only nodded to herself and settled more fully in her chair, David allowed himself a moment to reassess, to alter his expectations.

Patrick had never said a bad word against her, he wouldn’t—but then again the topic of Rachel was never one they lingered on for too long. David had conjured himself an image of a girl much more fragile than the one before him, someone who maybe didn’t understand Patrick the way he did. But of course he was wrong. 

David understood, watching Rachel and watching Patrick, how it had taken Patrick this long to realize he was not attracted to women. When you dated your best friend, someone who was beautiful and nice, someone you genuinely liked, it’d be easy to confuse it with love.

Or rather, it’d be easy to confuse it with attraction. David didn’t doubt that Patrick loved Rachel. In fact, he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of what they had, even knowing what he knew.

“Rach?” Patrick said. She had been sitting quietly, presumably thinking through what she had just heard.

“What does this mean, exactly?” She asked. “Are you… Have you always—?”

“I haven’t always known, no. Just…” Patrick took a deep breath and seemed to force the words out, “Things were never right with us, Rach. You know that.”

“So, you’re… gay,” she said. There was no venom in her voice, just some curiosity and maybe an implication or two that David couldn’t hear, but Patrick’s breath hitched anyway. David had been trying to control himself, to not show too much physical affection in front of Rachel—the hand holding was pushing it, to be honest—but he couldn’t help but lean into Patrick a tiny bit, as an offer of support. Patrick seemed to take strength from David, readily leaning into his touch. Rachel’s eyes caught on their contact, but David couldn’t find it within himself to regret it.

“Yes,” Patrick said.

“Not bisexual?” Rachel asked.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know, Patrick. I’m sad.”

Patrick said nothing, only nodded. David thought Patrick must be sad too, knew it must hurt him to hurt Rachel.

“I’m also kind of relieved,” she added.

“Relieved?”

“I don’t know, Patrick. I love you,” Rachel paused to take a deep breath. She looked towards the ceiling and closed her eyes for a moment. Then, when she had successfully fended off the tears, “I think I could have gone on this way for… as long as you’d keep taking me back. None of our break-ups ever felt final, Patrick, until now.”

“I’m sorry, Rachel.”

“Please, I don’t want you to apologize.”

“Rach… I just don’t want you to think—that I don’t care about you just because…”

“Just because you don’t love me,” Rachel finished for him.

“No I… I do—love you, just not—”

“Not the way I love you.” She did it again.

“I guess not,” Patrick admitted, sounding like it pained him to do so.

They lapsed into silence, neither knowing what to say to break the tension, nor to make anyone feel better about where the night had gone. David was feeling even more out of place than he had at the beginning of the conversation. He was always happy to lend his support to Patrick, of course, and sitting with him while he came out to his ex-girlfriend, while uncomfortable, was doable. But he didn’t think he needed to be there while Patrick broke Rachel’s heart.

“Did you come here to get back together?” Patrick asked, and while it didn’t exactly relieve the tension, at least it was better than silence.

“We’ve never gone this long without talking before,” she said, which maybe wasn’t an answer but also kind of was. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” 

David did not want to be here for this. It’s not that it was wrong for Patrick to miss his ex, or even to tell her that he missed her, it was just… the jealousy, pinching up David’s side and making him uncomfortable.

It came from a long history of bad relationships, of never trusting his partners, and never being trusted in return—a long history of never feeling like he, alone, was enough. And with their terrible date last night still looming over them, witnessing Patrick profess his affection to someone else… well, it left David feeling vulnerable.

But, like a bell in the back of his mind, it rang again—loud and true.

_ Boyfriend. _

David could set aside his jealousy for Patrick. He would set a lot of things aside, for Patrick. His feelings were possibly too big and too new, but that didn’t stop him from feeling them. 

_ Boyfriend. _

David had to bite his cheek to contain his smile. 

Rachel left soon after with a promise to keep in touch. She shared a hug with Patrick by the door, and though David tried to give them privacy, he was sure he heard her whisper ‘I’m happy for you’, which made him happy for Patrick too.

Patrick closed the door and leaned back against it. He looked at David and, for a moment, they were both silent. David was happy to give him his moment of peace before they dived into more emotions. 

But Patrick didn’t look peaceful—he looked nervous. Like maybe he was afraid David was upset, or judging the way he had handled things. Could he not see how proud David was? Could he not see how the heat of  _ boyfriend _ was still pumping through his veins?

“So,” Patrick said, breaking the silence.

“So,” David said.

“Do I owe you another redo date?”

“I don’t think so,” David said, and for the first time all night, he allowed himself to smile. He couldn’t keep the affection off his face any longer—he didn’t want to.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Patrick asked, a small curl to his lips. He pushed himself away from the door and joined David on the bed.

“No reason,” David said, wrapping his arms around Patrick and resting his chin on his shoulder. “I’m just really proud of my boyfriend.”

“David—” David cut him off with a kiss.

“I just think it’s my job, as your boyfriend, to tell you how well you did tonight.” David said.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Does my boyfriend want me to let it go?”

“No,” Patrick said, pressing his forehead against David’s, “your boyfriend really does not want you to let it go.”

David hummed in response, but it was Patrick who took control of the next kiss. He leaned further into David, his kiss turning from gentle to frenzied and nervous—and while that kind of desperation might work for David normally, he had to break the kiss when he felt the tremble in Patrick’s chest. He cupped Patrick’s cheek and took deep breaths, hoping Patrick would follow his lead.

“What do you need?” David asked.

“Can you just—hold me, for a minute?” Patrick blinked a couple of times, and while that managed to stop the tears from spilling down his cheek, it didn’t stop them from collecting in his eyelashes. David swiped his thumb gently across Patrick’s eyes.

“I’ll hold you as long as you like,” he said.

Patrick sank into David’s arms and after a couple of minutes of David rubbing soothing circles on Patrick’s back, the trembling began to subside.

“We’re okay?” Patrick whispered into David’s chest.

“Of course,” David said, kissing the top of Patrick’s head.

“I didn’t expect Rachel…”

“I think you handled it really well.”

“Really?” Patrick pulled back to look at David.

“Yes.”

“And… the boyfriend thing—is okay?

“It’s…”  _ Great, wonderful, incredible.  _ David couldn’t decide which descriptor was best to use.

“If it’s not your style, we don’t have to…” Patrick trailed off, but before he could retreat fully into apprehension, David tried to explain.

“Um, people don’t usually—I can count on one hand the number of people who have called me their boyfriend, and half of them only did it  _ once _ before deciding it didn’t fit. So please, call me your boyfriend.”

“Okay, boyfriend.” Patrick said, the cheeky grin that had been absent from his face all night making its much anticipated reappearance.

“I mean, I still have a  _ name, _ ” David said, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, David.” Patrick amended, but his name sounded just as sweet on Patrick’s lips, like maybe it meant the same thing after all.

They lay down together, trading lazy kisses until Patrick fell asleep, exhausted by the emotion of the night. David, too, felt the weight of the evening, but beside the bone deep exhaustion was a satisfaction—the result of knowing someone, of being claimed by someone, and maybe, even, the beginning notes of loving someone.

David felt at home wrapped in Patrick’s arms, and in no time at all, the steady rhythm of his boyfriend’s breathing had lulled him to sleep as well.

No end in sight to this thing they were creating between them.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay... So this chapter turned into a beast. It is the longest by far at over 6,800 words. For reference, chapter 9 was only 4,200 words. And my previous longest chapter, chapter 5, was something like 5,900. We're breaking records, folks. 
> 
> Anyways, thank you all for continuing to read! Your comments and kudos mean the world to me!

David is blindsided one afternoon when, despite his careful planning, his tracking of both their schedules, and his unwavering determination to keep them apart  _ forever _ , Patrick and Stevie somehow end up in the same room together. He’d thought, initially, that it must have been an accident. He must have been careless—he must have mixed up Stevie’s schedule, or maybe,  _ maybe _ the universe had just been against him that day. He didn’t regularly check his horoscope, but perhaps if he had, it might have warned him—it might have said something like “distress and calamity will cast its gaze upon you” or “don’t invite your boyfriend over when you think your roommate won’t be home; she most certainly will be.”

Patrick had only been to David’s apartment twice. Stevie had a fairly stable schedule, between school and her job, but she switched things up just often enough to make David nervous—so he usually suggested they hang out at Patrick’s, but it was getting harder and harder to keep him away. Especially when Patrick made such compelling arguments—why were they spending so much time in Patrick’s dorm when David had an actual apartment; an apartment with a bigger bed, a bigger TV, and a bathroom that didn’t regularly have half naked students brushing their teeth and singing off-key like they were patrons at a karaoke bar?

David was running out of excuses, especially when Patrick’s dorm ceased to remain a viable option.

“Candace has lice,” Patrick said over the phone. 

“Who’s Candace?”

“She lives down the hall.”

“Ew,” David said.

“Yeah, so I think it would be best if we hung out at your apartment today,” Patrick said, easy-breezy. Looking back, David would be impressed with the steadiness with which Patrick delivered his lines.

David’s initial instinct was to refuse, but he didn’t want to  _ not _ see Patrick—so he was forced to consider it. It was Saturday, so Stevie would be at work most of the day. It should be safe. Patrick could come over, hang out, maybe watch a movie and eat dinner, and be gone all before Stevie got home. The risk really was very small.

“Fine,” he said. “Come over around 2:30?”

“Okay, I’ll bring snacks.”

David should have known when he saw the mini powdered donuts—or when Patrick suggested they hang out in the living room, instead of David’s bedroom. He should have realized the second Stevie walked through the door, that he, David Rose, was being  _ had _ .

As it was, it took him about five minutes of actual conversation to realize it had all been a set-up.

“What are you doing home?” David yelled at Stevie, immediately grateful that Patrick had insisted they keep their clothes on for the time being. 

“Tired,” Stevie said, casually tossing her keys on the counter. She immediately spotted the donuts and ripped the bag open. “Got someone to cover my shift.”

“Stevie! It’s great to finally meet you,” Patrick said, as he stood from the couch. He crossed the room in three strides and held out his hand. Stevie shook it.

“Likewise. It’s a shame we couldn't do this sooner. David’s always going on about how busy you are,” She said.

“He studies a lot—” David interjected.

“Ah yes, he says the same thing about you,” Patrick said to Stevie, both of them making a point of ignoring David.

“She’s almost always at work—”

“You know,” Stevie said, turning briefly to smile at David, “David’s got this ridiculous idea, that if we were to ever meet…”

“We’d gang up on him?” Patrick suggested.

“Exactly. Something about an—”

“Unbalanced social dynamic,” they finished together.

“I’m familiar,” Patrick said.

“Ridiculous, right?”

“Well, you know David.”

“Oh, I do,” Stevie said.

“Excuse me,” David said, standing, “this feels a lot like  _ exactly _ what I was afraid of.”

“Oh, come on, David. It’s not that bad,” Patrick said, resting his hand on David’s arm, as David joined them by the powdered donuts. “Besides, you could think of it as practice.”

“Practice?”

“Yeah, for when I meet your family,” Patrick was wearing one of his biggest grins, the glint in his eye especially sharp, “I’m sure that will be much worse.”

David had to agree. That definitely sounded much,  _ much _ worse. He resisted, only just, shuddering at the mental image of an introduction between his mother and Patrick—and he hadn’t even given a thought to Alexis.

Oh god,  _ Alexis. _

David audibly swallowed. He tried to force a smile on his face, but he was sure he just ended up grimacing instead.

“That’s… fine,” he said. “I think that’ll be—fun.”

Of course the notion was terrifying, but there was maybe a little part of David that delighted at the idea. Patrick wanted to meet his family—that had to be a good sign. He wouldn’t say it if he weren’t thinking long term, right? 

In all likelihood, the Roses would just ruin everything the second David brought Patrick home, but it was nice—for a second—to think about having everyone he cared about together like that. To not keep everything so separate. 

David had never successfully blended the different aspects of his life together—he always kept any friends or lovers away from his family. He kept his family uninvolved with his education, his artwork, his interests. David had become very good at dividing himself up and doling out pieces as he saw fit, hiding the fractures behind a strong personality and thick eyebrows.

David was beginning to think that maybe these pieces could fit together after all—maybe, for the first time, he  _ wanted _ everything to fit together. 

Those thoughts were perhaps too much to deal with at 3 PM on a Saturday—with an audience, no less. He tucked them away for later.

“You know, Mrs. Rose called me Stacy when we met,” Stevie said.

“I thought it was Stella?” David asked.

“It was Stacy three times and Stella twice.”

“Oh,” Patrick said, “You’ve met the Roses?”

“Only once, last semester. They, uh, helped David move in.”

“That sounds… That must’ve been…” Patrick hesitated, searching for an adequate way to describe the Roses. He was trying not to laugh. 

“Oh it was exactly the trainwreck you’d expect it to be,” Stevie replied. She too, looked like she was tempering her laughter, for David’s sake.

“Okay, that is my family you’re talking about.” David said.

“You’re right, they’re not even worth mentioning compared to how  _ you _ acted that day.”

“ _ Me _ ?”

“David, you asked me to switch rooms with you.”

“David!” Patrick said, shocked and amused. He looked at Stevie, and then they were laughing together.

“What? Her closet is bigger—okay, I don’t like this  _ at all _ ,” David said, gesturing between the two of them.

“I’m so glad we could make this happen,” Stevie said, briefly gripping Patrick’s arm—a gesture which David found way too chummy for his comfort.

“‘Make this happen’? What is ‘make this happen’?” David looked between Patrick and Stevie. “What does that mean?”

“Stevie,” Patrick said, like he was scolding a child. He wouldn’t meet David’s eyes.

“Did you  _ plan _ this?” David asked, scandalized.

“Of course not, right Stevie?” Patrick said, his round eyes revealing his guilt, even if his words didn’t.

“We may have… talked,” Stevie said, not a trace of regret.

“Oh my god!”

“David,” Patrick said. He glared at Stevie one last time, before focusing all of his attention on David. “Look, I’m sorry but… Is it such a crime that I wanted to meet your best friend?”

David’s instinct was to refute that, to sneer and say  _ Stevie is  _ not _ my best friend _ —but… she was. She absolutely was David’s best friend, never mind that she might be his  _ only _ friend.

David tried to battle the fondness that was blooming in his chest as he looked at his best friend and his boyfriend. He was still annoyed and he would like to remain annoyed a little longer, thank you.

“So who was the—the troop leader on this little mission?” He asked.

“Troop leader? What are we, girl scouts?” Stevie quipped.

“Well! The way you worked together on this…  _ betrayal _ , certainly seems worthy of a badge!”

“Well unfortunately, David, I left my sash at home.” Patrick said.

David rolled his eyes but let it go. Neither Patrick nor Stevie were about to give the other up. He’d never know which of them had initiated this whole thing, who the true mastermind was. He couldn’t even hedge a guess—Patrick and Stevie both had a scrappiness about them, a determined spirit that drove their actions and, if there was opportunity in the madness to tease David, then that was just a bonus. 

What did it say about David that these were the people he held closest to his heart?

“Come on, David,” Patrick said. He gripped David’s upper arm and squeezed. “Let’s just pick a movie and we can all hang out. Stevie, you’ll join us?”

“That depends,” she said. “What are you watching?”

“David wants to watch Little Women, but my vote is for Hannah Gadsby’s comedy special, Nanette.”

“So I’m the deciding vote?” Stevie asked.

“You’re the worst,” David said.

“I haven’t even voted yet,” she objected.

“Oh, so you’re going to side with me?”

“Of course not— comedy special for sure.”

“See? The worst. Absolutely vile.”

“Thank you.” She smiled her wicked grin and intentionally bumped David on her way to the couch. 

David sandwiched himself between his two favorite people and proceeded to ignore them for the next twenty minutes. After that, he couldn’t resist settling himself more comfortably against Patrick’s side. He could feel Stevie watching them, watching how they were together—the casual touches, the secret smiles. He knew she’d have a lot to say later—or maybe she wouldn’t say anything at all, but she’d look at him with a quirked eyebrow and he’d know exactly what she meant.

David wanted to be annoyed with the two of them—for planning this meeting, for ganging up on him, for choosing a  _ damn comedy special _ over a beautiful story of adolescence and sisterhood—but any hostility he had left seeped out as he watched Nanette. At the end of the hour, David was crying, overwhelmed and delighted. So fine, sometimes Stevie and Patrick were right. Whatever.

After the special was over, and Stevie had gone, David thought of something.

“Did Candace even have lice?” he asked.

“Who’s Candace?” Patrick said.

* * *

Truthfully, Patrick had forgotten all about the ‘library date’, as David called it. It must have been the adrenaline coursing through him during their first date—he wasn’t able to absorb every single word of their conversation while he was so focused on David’s mouth. Plus, they’d had enough privacy over the past month that any fantasy Patrick may have had about kissing David in a secluded corner of the library had been pushed to the back of his mind, in favor of reliving all of the real kisses they’d been able to share instead.

No, Patrick was thinking no sexy thoughts when he brought David along to pick up a book he’d reserved from the campus library. 

“This is a beautiful library,” David said.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never been here before.” They got in line behind two other students.

“I prefer the one on the south campus,” David said.

“Why’s that?”

“More privacy,” David whispered, his mouth less than an inch away. His breath tickled Patrick’s neck and sent chills down his spine. David settled his hand on Patrick’s lower back, a gesture of casual intimacy that made Patrick warm inside.

“Oh?” Patrick said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “You don’t think there’s… privacy here?”

“I’m sure we could find some.”

“Next,” the librarian called and David had to nudge Patrick forward, distracted as he was by the idea of  _ finding some privacy _ with David.

Patrick gave the woman his name and handed over his student ID. She made a couple of taps on the keyboard before reaching behind and grabbing Patrick’s book. The whole process took no more than two minutes, but Patrick was buzzing with anticipation. 

So maybe David was joking about finding privacy in the library, but even so, they could find privacy  _ somewhere.  _ Though, the library  _ was _ nice, and it had that great book smell, and there was something exciting about the idea… 

As soon as Patrick had his book in his hand and had said his thank yous, David was steering him away from the desk and deeper into the stacks, posthaste.

So, not a joke then.

“Science fiction or religion and spirituality?”

“What?”

“Pick a genre, Patrick.”

“Well, definitely not religion. I wouldn’t feel comfortable making out next to a copy of the Bible.”

“Sci-fi it is, then.” David grabbed Patrick’s hand and tugged him along.

“Although,” Patrick said, pulling David to a stop, “I’m not sure I want to kiss next to The Hobbit either.”

“The Hobbit is  _ fantasy _ , Patrick. Honestly.” David rolled his eyes.

“Right, right.”

“So then what kind of books are acceptable to kiss next to?”

“I don’t know… cookbooks? Or would that be too distracting for you?”

“You’re funny,” David said.

“Seriously, David, the genre does not matter. Just… lead me to a dark corner and kiss me.”

“Mm, absolutely.” 

David dragged Patrick down one aisle and up the next, checking as he went for browsing students or anyone with a nametag and a book cart. They turned two corners and checked three more aisles before they found a relatively private sector of the library.

They stood together in silence, surrounded by nothing but books. Patrick felt suddenly shy—this kind of thing was more David’s speed than his. He’d like to think that he’d gotten very good at making David feel good, but he still felt… inexperienced by comparison. He’d never done anything like  _ this. _

“So,” he said.

“So,” David said back.

“Following your lead here, David.”

“Right.” David took Patrick’s hand and pulled him closer. They kissed—just briefly, but the familiar sensation set something loose within Patrick. It seemed easier now.

Patrick gripped David’s hips and David settled his arms on Patrick’s shoulders. Patrick leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to David’s mouth. He liked that David was taller, that he had to tilt his head up to kiss him. It was different. It was good.

He locked their lips together again and gave David a gentle push, attempting to back him up against the shelves. David followed Patrick’s lead, taking a couple of clumsy backwards steps before he stopped and broke the kiss.

“Wait,” he said.

“Okay?” Patrick asked. He meant to ask  _ are you okay _ but the words wouldn’t come to him at the moment.

“Yeah, just... there’s a lot of dust—can we…”

“Jesus,” Patrick said with a perfunctory eyeroll. But he turned them around anyway, so that he was the one leaning against the dusty books and David’s sweater would be safe.

“Two aisles over,” David said.

“What?”

“Religion,” he added.

“You’re funny.”

“Yes I am.”

“Do library dates usually involve this much talking?” Patrick asked.

“No, no. Libraries typically require you to keep talking to a minimum,” David replied. He bit his cheek and smirked, prideful in his ability to nettle Patrick. This whole thing had been David’s idea in the first place, yet Patrick was the one practically panting with want and David was making jokes. Patrick loved David’s humor, he did—David’s mouth was skilled at many things, teasing and kissing among his favorites. Patrick’s mind just happened to be fixated on the latter.

“David.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Patrick said.

“Yes,” David said, already leaning back in, his hands cupping Patrick’s face.

Patrick sank into the feeling—David’s lips moving against his, the taste of David on his tongue, David pressed against him practically head to toe.  _ David. _

They’d been in this exact position so many times before that it was easy for Patrick to forget that this wasn’t  _ exactly _ the same. He’d moan into David’s mouth a second before remembering they were in public. And everytime he did remember, his adrenaline would spike and the fluttering in his stomach would kick up a notch—and okay, maybe there was  _ some _ merit to this whole library date idea after all.

David ran his fingertips gently along Patrick’s jaw, before following them with his mouth. He drew a line of kisses from Patrick’s ear to his chin, and then switched to the other side to do it again. To better adhere to library protocol, Patrick swallowed any forthcoming groan, and replaced it with a breathy sigh instead. He moved one hand from David’s hip to his neck, running his blunt fingernails up the back of David’s scalp, something that he knew from experience David liked.

David hummed at the feeling, then dragged his mouth down Patrick’s neck and began to suck at the soft skin there. Patrick let him stay there for a minute, trying his best not to squirm out of his skin, before he pulled David’s mouth back to his own. 

Patrick had stopped counting their kisses somewhere in week one, when it quickly became obvious that keeping track would be impossible.There had to have been hundreds of them by now—a thousand, maybe. In the beginning, Patrick could hardly believe he was kissing a guy—that after years of mediocre kisses, he was finally enjoying himself. Kissing finally felt right. 

Patrick had been scared that it wouldn’t last—that either the pleasure would go away or David would. Patrick still felt like he needed to savor every kiss with David, might always feel that way, but it wasn’t so overwhelming anymore. Sometime after the night Rachel showed up, things between them had changed. Kissing David started to feel less like a mere possibility and more like a guarantee.

The benefit of spending so much time kissing someone, other than the kissing itself, is that you learn very quickly the best ways your bodies fit together. Where your arms should go, what your hands should do, what the other person likes. David made it easy to follow his lead, to join his rhythm—and Patrick had been grateful for that in the beginning. But once he felt confident that David was enjoying himself just as much, he’d been ready to take back some of the control.

The first time he’d done it, he’d gripped David’s jaw to change the angle of the kiss, giving himself more leverage. He bit David’s bottom lip before pushing his tongue into David’s mouth. David, immediately receptive to this change of pace, had broken the kiss to whisper a hoarse but encouraging  _ yes _ between them, before smashing their faces together again.

From then on, they had found a common ground, a rhythm that worked best for both of them, that allowed them each to explore the other as thoroughly as they wished.

Patrick had defaulted to David in the library, but once the initial nerves wore off, he was ready to contribute more to the team. 

Patrick pulled David, if possible, even closer. He didn’t have a lot of options here—as embarrassing as it would be to be caught making out in public, it would be even worse to be caught working on a hickey, all spit and swollen lips, not to mention the sounds David might make. 

So Patrick settled for standard kissing—a little tongue, some teeth. Just enough to make David desperate for more. But David was surprisingly controlled, like he knew that Patrick would refuse to do this again if they actually did get caught.

Patrick lost track of time, only resurfacing between kisses to adjust his position. Library shelves were not all that comfortable, a fact they’d have to consider the next time they intended to do this.

They managed to kiss for a solid half hour before footsteps an aisle over reminded them of their location. They broke apart, breathing heavy and a little messy. Patrick liked David like this—the blissed-out, thoroughly-kissed David that was confident enough to look directly into Patrick’s eyes, deeper maybe. Patrick wondered what he saw—if he saw Patrick the way Patrick saw himself, the way he’d like to be seen. Maybe one day he’d be brave enough to ask.

They held each other's gaze for a moment, before the laughter bubbled over. Patrick tucked his face into David’s chest to hide his blush, inhaling as he did, as if kissing David for the past thirty minutes hadn’t been enough to satisfy him.

“We should go,” he said, when he leaned back.

“Yeah,” David said but he was distracted, looking past Patrick with his head tilted to the side.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve been meaning to read this,” David said, sliding a thin, black book from the shelf—Sharp Objects in a small font across the cover.

“Great, I’m glad this wasn’t a waste of time for you,” Patrick teased.

“Me too,” David said. “Will you check it out for me?”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“You need a student ID.”

“You don’t have a student ID?”

“I’m sure I have one somewhere.”

“Unbelievable,” Patrick said, but he still took the book from David.

“Thanks.”

“You’re lucky it’s our one month anniversary, or I might not be feeling so generous.” Patrick finally detached himself from David and made to walk away.

“What?” David said, something soft in his voice. Patrick looked back at him, just to see what his face was doing. He looked a little confused and a lot fond.

“What?” Patrick echoed.

“It’s our one month anniversary?”

“It is.”

“And you thought a library book was an appropriate gift?” The thing about David’s jokes was that they were always at least ten percent serious. Patrick laughed.

“Well, what did you get me?” he said.

“Um, I believe I introduced you to the concept of a library date, but if you didn’t like it…”

“Oh no, I liked it very much. In fact,” Patrick said, “I don’t know how you’ll beat it for our two month anniversary.”

“I’ll just have to think of something,” David said, a flush to his cheeks that hadn’t been put there by Patrick’s kisses.

“See that you do.” Patrick took David’s hand and like that they left the library, ignoring any looks their rumpled clothing and flushed faces may have drawn.

“So really?” David said. “You got me nothing?”

“I made a reservation at the cafe,” Patrick teased.

“I thought the cafe didn’t take—” David stopped, seeing the twinkle in Patrick’s eye. “You’re the worst.”

“So what do you say? Eight o’clock?”

* * *

Since the Stevie Incident, Patrick had spent a lot more time at David’s apartment—hanging out, watching movies, studying. David could deal with the two of them teasing him if it meant, by the end of the night, David would get to fall asleep with Patrick by his side.

David liked to watch Patrick do homework—his face turned serious, a wrinkle occasionally appearing between his eyebrows. The dedication and focus on his face reminded David of the way Patrick looked at him sometimes. Usually when they were having a serious conversation or talking about their feelings. That face made his stomach swoop.

Not to mention, the steady clack of Patrick’s keyboard could lull David to sleep. In fact, it had more than once. It was all very comfortable. Domestic, almost. 

Patrick, however, didn’t like it. Apparently, it was distracting to be adored by David Rose. He had scolded David on more than one occasion, insisting that if he wasn’t able to get any work done he would leave. David had argued that he wasn’t preventing him from working, and Patrick had said  _ you know that’s not true. _

Sometimes, however, David had a good excuse.

“David,” Patrick said. He was working on an essay while David sat nearby, his sketchbook open in his lap.

“Yes?” David said.

“Don’t you have homework?”

“I do.”

“Then why don’t you  _ do it _ .”

“I am.”

“Oh? Your homework is to stare at your boyfriend? How convenient.” Patrick rolled his eyes, but otherwise continued to patter away at his keyboard.

“Well, that wasn’t  _ exactly _ what my professor said,” David said.

“What  _ exactly _ did your professor say?”

“The assignment is to draw five things that are important to me.” 

“Oh,” Patrick said, finally looking away from his computer screen and at David, “and you’re, uh, drawing… me?” The wrinkle between his brows was back, but this time it was accompanied by a beautiful blush sweeping up his cheeks. Any resistance David had to being vulnerable was continually obliterated by Patrick’s reception of said vulnerability. Whatever David had to do to keep putting that look on Patrick’s face, well—he’d do it.

“Yes, I’m drawing your hands.”

“My  _ hands _ are important to you?”

“Yes,” David said.

“Would you like to elaborate?”

“No.” It’s not that he didn’t want to, it was that he really didn’t know how to explain it. Why were Patrick’s hands so important to David?

Truthfully, David had always had a thing about hands. He thought they were intimate in a way unrelated to sex, though they certainly had their place there as well. There was a lot of energy in someone’s hands—emotions and expressions, a silent personality that became apparent when you cared enough to notice. People used their hands with intention.

Patrick’s hands… were strong and capable and, while he didn’t groom them to the extent that David did his, he trimmed his nails and kept them clean. They were nice hands. Always warm when David held them.

And maybe that was it, more than anything else—how Patrick used his hands to touch David, to show David he cared. Patrick liked holding David’s hand, and he was never lazy about it either. He was an active hand holder—a strong-grip, thumb-rubbing, squeezes-your-hand-just-to-let-you-know-he’s-there kind of hand holder. But that wasn’t all. Patrick used his hands all over David’s body, from the most intimate touches to the most casual. Squeezing his arm, a hand on his back, along his jaw, in his hair. 

And then there was that time, when they had barely just met, that Patrick had swiped a charcoal-laden thumb across David’s cheek and he’d  _ known _ , he’d known he was in trouble. The memory was burned into the back of David’s mind as the first time he really wanted Patrick, beyond just thinking he was cute or funny. 

David had never known that you could feel safe in someone else’s hands. How was he supposed to say all of  _ that _ to Patrick?

“Come on David, tell me,” Patrick said, elbowing David incessantly.

“It’s nothing, I just… I like drawing hands, and I like you. And you have hands, so here we are.”

“Right, so my hands are your favorite thing about me?”

“Not… really,” David said.

“So then what is? What’s your favorite thing about me?”

“Wow, what a role reversal. Usually I’m the one fishing for compliments.”

“Come on, David,” Patrick said, pouting.

“Don’t you have an essay to write?”

“I’m already distracted. Just tell me what your favorite thing about my body is, David. Come on,” Patrick said, homework abandoned. 

“Oh, so now we’re talking strictly about your body?”

“Sure, why not? You can always compliment my intellect later.”

“Oh my god.”

“So? What is it?”

“I think you know,” David said, with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Maybe if he could turn this back into a joke, Patrick would stop pushing.

“David! My penis, really?”

“Hey I never said it was your penis, I’m not that crude.”

“Then what is it, David? I’ll keep guessing.”

“Then keep guessing,” David said.

“My eyes, David? Is it my eyes?”

Patrick did have beautiful eyes, but they still weren’t David’s favorite thing about him. He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.

“Come on David. What about my hair? You love my curls, right?”

“They are lovely, but no.”

“Then what? My smile?” Patrick said, and David gave a small, unconvincing shake of his head but otherwise kept his mouth shut. He hoped he wasn't blushing, because… well, Patrick’s smile did actually make his knees weak. 

“Oh?” Patrick said, and if the toothy grin spreading across his face was any indication, he knew. 

David tried to hold back his own responding smile by biting his cheek, but when had that ever worked? So instead, he tried to change the subject.

“I have homework,” he said, gesturing to his sketchbook.

“I should just… let you get back to that, then,” Patrick said.

“Great, thank you.”

“And, I will,” he said as he swiped David’s sketchbook directly out of his hands, “as soon as you admit that my smile is your favorite thing about me.”

_ Menace _ , David thought. But he also thought that, while Patrick’s statement wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t the entire truth either.  _ Your smile is my favorite thing, period. _

“Come on, David.” Patrick pinched his side once, then twice. “Come on.”

“Stop that,” David said, slapping Patrick’s hands away.

“Admit it!” Patrick was crowding over him now, laptop and sketchbook forgotten on the other side of the bed. 

Patrick pinned David with his hips, while his hands roamed up and down David’s torso, searching for that perfect tickle spot. David squirmed beneath him and in a matter of seconds they were both laughing and out of breath.

“Fine!” David said, rolling his eyes. “I admit it.”

“Wow, who would have guessed? David Rose, a big ol’ softie.”

“Ew, I take it all back,” David said, pushing Patrick off of him. “It is your penis.”

“Well, in that case—right back at ya,” Patrick said with a wink.

David grabbed his sketchbook with a huff and Patrick opened his laptop, and they both settled back into their work. David focused on his linework, neglecting the shading as per usual. His professors nailed him on it, but he couldn’t help the way he liked to draw. Besides, realism was overrated. 

“So what else did you draw?” Patrick asked a couple minutes later.

“What?”

“You need five things for your assignment, right? What else have you got?”

“Oh, um… here,” David said, passing his sketchbook to Patrick. Patrick had already seen most everything in it. “I only have two others so far.”

Patrick took the sketchbook and flipped the pages back. He’d made it clear early on that he really liked David’s art, that he had a genuine interest. Even if he didn’t ‘get it’, he was willing to listen to David explain. Maybe it didn’t sound like a big deal, but it was a barrier David had rarely broken. 

“Your rings—that makes sense, and… what’s this?”

“Oh, it's silly,” David said. 

“Is it a bracelet?”

“Yeah its, uh… one of those rainbow friendship bracelets? Alexis got it for me after I came out. Her way of being supportive, or whatever.” David cleared his throat and hoped he sounded… aloof. Of course, by nature of the assignment he was baring pieces of his soul, but his relationship with Alexis had always been… complicated. It remained one of the more difficult things to talk about. 

“That’s sweet.”

“I guess,” David said. He shrugged.

“You don’t wear it,” Patrick said. It wasn’t so much an accusation as it was an observation and maybe partially a question.

“God, no. It’s not me at all.” That was true. David had a very strict fashion sense and he wouldn’t compromise that, not even for sentimentality. That didn’t mean he wasn’t sentimental, though. He’d kept the bracelet for close to four years, had brought it with him to college. It was maybe the only thing Alexis had ever given him, and it reminded him that she cared. Even when she was being a brat or they hadn’t spoken in months… she cared. He cared.

“So… you think they’re stupid, then,” Patrick said tentatively. How had they gotten stuck on this bracelet?

“No, of course not. Just not me.”

“Huh.” Something in Patrick’s voice made David pause.

“Would you wear one?” He ventured.

“I don’t know… I’ve thought about it. But if you think—”

“Patrick that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Well then, I guess. I wouldn’t mind having something... like that.”

David didn’t ask for clarification, though he kind of wanted to. Something like  _ what _ ? Something rainbow? Something  _ gay _ ? David could see the merit in it, in having something that reminded you of your identity. It wasn’t entirely different from why he wore his rings. If it could help Patrick feel even a little bit connected to himself, a little bit proud… 

“Well,” David said. He leaned over to his bedside table and opened the drawer. He pulled out a box and set it on the bed, before opening it. On top of various slips of paper—photos, letters, a card or two—sat the bracelet, in pristine condition. David held it out to Patrick. “Here.”

“What?”

“Wear it,” he said.

“I can’t. It’s yours.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Alexis gave it to you,” Patrick objected, but David could see he wanted it. 

“I promise she won’t mind either. Someone should wear it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Patrick I want you to have it,” It suddenly meant a great deal to David that Patrick took it. 

“But… you used it for your assignment. It’s important to you.”  _ You’re important to me. _

“It’s important to me because it’s from Alexis. If you wear it, it will be important for two reasons.”

Patrick nodded for a second before he held out his wrist. “Will you help me tie it?”

David smiled and took the two ends of the bracelet in his hands. He looped them around Patrick’s wrist and made a knot. Once he let go, Patrick leaned over and captured David’s mouth in a kiss.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Okay, it’s just a bracelet.”

“It’s not. Thank you,” Patrick said again, soft and gooey like the inside of a marshmallow. Like the inside of David.

“Right, well,” David said, shifting slightly, “I’m going to finish my homework now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, David! Have I been distracting you?” Patrick said, placing one more swift kiss to David’s temple. “How annoying!”

* * *

“So I’ve got practice at 4,” Patrick said. He had slept at David’s again, so that meant he would have to head back to his dorm to change soon. 

“Okay, so I’ll see you after? We’ll get dinner—whatever you want.”

“Sure, unless…” Patrick’s words faded. He’d been thinking about it a lot, but once he officially invited David he couldn’t very well take it back.

“Unless what?”

“Do you want to come?” He said.  _ Be brave, Brewer. _

“Well, yeah. I had thought that we would go together.” Patrick  _ just _ resisted rolling his eyes. David had a habit of purposefully misunderstanding things, especially when those things related to sports.

“Not to dinner, David. To practice,” Patrick said.

“To your baseball practice?”

“Yeah.”

“Ew,” David said, making his sour-lemon-face.

“Come on, David! It’ll be fun!”

“Absolutely not.”

“I think you should come.”

“I have plans with Stevie.”

“No he doesn’t!” Stevie called from the next room over.

“I hate you!” David shouted back.

“Will you please come, David? You’d get to see me in my uniform and… you could meet my teammates.” Patrick tried to exude casual. Just a casual practice with his boyfriend casually meeting his friends for the first time. Just casually coming out to thirty-five people at once. It was fine.

“I’ve already met them,” David said. This time Patrick did roll his eyes.

“You met Brian. Once,” he said.

“Yes, and if you recall, it wasn’t great for me.”  _ Nor for me, _ Patrick thought.

“David,” he said, all pretenses at casual gone. He wanted this.

“Why, Patrick? Why is this such a big deal?” David was being difficult, or getting ready to be difficult. Warming up, really. 

“Because, David!” Patrick said, “I’d really like to introduce my friends to my boyfriend and, it would help I think, if my boyfriend were actually there!”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t realize… that you were ready to do that,” David said. He looked nervous, like he always did when the subject cropped up. Patrick knew David worried about pressuring him, about Patrick pushing himself for David’s benefit. That wasn’t what this was.

“I am ready,” Patrick said, and just to check, “Are you ready for me to do that?” Because he wouldn’t, if David was uncomfortable. Maybe meeting his friends was too big a step. He should have  _ thought _ —

“It’s up to you,” David said.

“David, please just… tell me.” Patrick said.

“Uh, yes. That would be… I would like that.” And Patrick knew he was telling the truth because he smiled that shy smile, that secretly pleased smile.

They left the apartment together a little while later. They stopped at Patrick’s so he could change, before heading to the field.

They’d briefly discussed David meeting Patrick there, but it became clear that David had no idea where the baseball field actually was—or any of the fields, for that matter. Patrick thought it best that they travel together, lest David not show up at all.

Patrick parked, and after a quiet moment to prepare himself, they got out of the car.

As they walked closer to the field, Patrick’s nerves began to take over. Indecision raged within him—should he take David’s hand, or not? He knew it would immediately calm him, but… it would also immediately give him up. On the other hand, he was about to come out anyway, so what did it matter? It didn’t need to be a surprise. He wasn’t about to pop out of a bush and scream  _ I’m gay! _ at his teammates. He wasn’t hoping for cheers or applause, he was just hoping for… Well, Patrick didn’t actually know what he was hoping for. Just acceptance, maybe. And any and all avoidance of ‘team’ related gay jokes. None of those, thank you.

He grabbed David’s hand.

David looked at him, but rather than ask if Patrick was sure, or if he was okay, he just smiled and squeezed Patrick’s hand tighter.

The field got closer and closer but Patrick’s step didn’t falter once. He had David, and he was beginning to think that that was all he’d ever really need.

Some of his teammates spotted them as they were about twenty feet away. They threw up their hands in a wave and Patrick waved back. He knew this entire scenario would make David uncomfortable—the sports, the meeting new people, the coming out—but to his credit, David stood tall and proud by Patrick’s side.

“Hey guys,” Patrick said.

“Hey Pat! What’s up!” his buddy Matt shouted.

And just like that, smooth as butter, Patrick said:

“This is my boyfriend, David. He’s going to watch us practice.” He didn’t think he flinched, but he couldn’t actually be sure. He’d have to rely on David for a play-by-play later. 

“Cool, the more the merrier. He can join my girlfriend and Roger’s boyfriend on the bleachers over there,” Matt said. He pointed to the bleachers in the distance, where a couple of students were sitting. It took Patrick a second to register that  _ Roger _ had a  _ boyfriend _ . Something eased in his chest—relief at not being the only queer person on the team. 

David caught it too and they shared a look.

“Great,” Patrick said, and in a split second decision, Patrick leaned over and kissed David on the cheek. David winked at Patrick before he walked away to join the other spectators. 

Practice flew by. Patrick did great—the relief at having finally come out to his friends combined with a little bit of showing off for David’s benefit led to one of his better practices. He snuck glances at David the whole time, laughing at how uncomfortable he looked while he seemed to be making small talk with the others. God, Patrick loved him.

_ Oh. _

That was… new. Was it new? Had he had that thought before? Did he mean it? It certainly felt a lot like love, this warmth in his chest. But how could he really know? He’d never felt it before.

Oh man, how was he going to sit on this one? It was definitely too soon—nevermind that he had told Rachel he loved her about two weeks into their relationship. But he hadn’t loved her, he knew now. And he hurt her. He wouldn’t hurt David. 

He looked down at the rainbow friendship bracelet—touched it, fiddled with it. He hadn’t taken it off, not once. The warmth spread.

“So how do you feel?” David said, as they walked away from the field and towards Patrick’s car.

“What?” Patrick said, startled. Did David know…?

“About coming out to your friends? How do you feel?”

“Oh, uh… Pretty good, actually,” Patrick said, calming himself. “It gets easier every time.”

“Great, I’m really proud of you, you know.”

“I know,” Patrick said. He could see it on David’s face.

“So,” David said, taking Patrick’s hand and swinging it by their sides with an uncharacteristic pep, “who’s next on the list?”

Patrick stalled for a second, still trying to swallow the  _ I love you _ that was, while not on the tip of his tongue, hanging out close by.

“My parents,” he finally said.

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind words! I hope this chapter was worth the wait! It could probably use a little more work, but I'm ready to move on from it, so it's yours now!
> 
> As always, I'm [hagface on tumblr](https://hagface.tumblr.com) if anyone would like to say hi!

“No, mom… I really don’t think—didn’t we put that box in the garage?” Patrick said as he paced around his dorm room. David sat on Patrick’s bed with his hands folded in his lap, watching the entire conversation take place—or one side of it anyway.

Patrick had been calling his mom every Sunday since he first left for college—it was the day that worked best for the both of them. Patrick liked having things scheduled and he liked, even better, knowing that he wouldn’t receive an unexpected phone call during the week. God, that made him sound like a terrible son, didn’t it? It’s not that he didn’t like talking to his parents—he did, but things had been weird lately. They’d been weird for a while actually, even before he’d met David and had his… sexual epiphany, or whatever.

So talking once a week, on Sundays, was good. It worked—usually.

Patrick had invited David over, hoping his presence would bolster his confidence—that it would make Patrick brave enough to finally come out to his mother, but… like with most of their phone calls, he had let her steer the conversation. She had been looking for some of Patrick’s old books to donate to a local book drive when he called, so naturally the conversation drifted in that direction and Patrick didn’t know how to reroute it. 

“So you’re sure you don’t mind?” she asked.

“Take whatever you need,” he responded. The longer the conversation went on, the less Patrick wanted to say what needed to be said. He could feel every fiber of confidence he’d woken up with this morning slipping away. Maybe a phone call wasn’t the right move. After all, shouldn’t he tell his parents together, rather than having his mom relay the news to his dad? Shouldn’t this be done face to face?

So Patrick could wait. He could wait. 

David had been tracking him with his eyes, a silent and patient audience. Would he be upset if Patrick didn’t go through with it? He stared at David, trying to gauge what he was thinking—but David was uncharacteristically composed, not even a twitch of his eyebrow for Patrick to parse. 

Maybe Patrick shouldn’t have begged him to come over. He was only embarrassing himself—why did he think this was a good idea? Sure, David had been there every time he’d come out before—to supply a hand to hold or a shoulder to lean on… but David must be getting sick of this by now, right?

Patrick felt pathetic, like he couldn’t stand on his own two feet. He had been leaning on David for his entire queer journey. How long would David be willing to indulge him? To offer this much support? It must be exhausting. Patrick was exhausted and he hadn’t even—he couldn’t even—

His mom was still talking. She’d moved on to some story about his aunt and uncle, or a cousin—Patrick wasn’t sure. He’d lost the thread of the conversation and was too overcome with his own anxiety to bother trying to pick it back up. He needed to get off the phone, reassess. 

“Mom, I gotta go—I’ve got a—” he paused, already hating himself for the words he was about to say, “—a friend over, so…” Patrick shot David an apologetic look, which David returned with a sympathetic smile. Ugh.

“Oh… okay, well… Call soon, okay?” His mom sounded… not quite upset, but something close to it—the way she always sounded lately when he ended their phone calls… tentative, like she was trying to respect some imaginary boundary that Patrick had unknowingly put up. 

“Of course.”

“Love you,” she added.

“Love you,” he said. He hoped she knew he meant it, even if he’d had a harder time acting like it lately. It was weird trying to talk about his life without bringing up David. He could try to mention him without giving anything away, but… He didn’t think he could keep the affection out of his voice. She would know  _ something _ was up. Actually—maybe that was the way to do it? Just start casually slipping David’s name into the conversation with more and more familiarity. How many ‘sleepovers’ could he mention before they caught on? Patrick assumed his parents would get it eventually and he’d never have to actually say the words.

But no—he  _ had _ to say the words. He had to do it right. He owed that much to David… and maybe also to himself.

He ended the call.

He stared at his phone, for no reason other than that he couldn’t yet bring himself to look at David. He knew exactly what he would see if he did—unconditional support. That was a little too much to handle at the moment. If David refused to be angry with Patrick, the least he could do was let Patrick be angry with himself. 

“So we’re not coming out today, then,” David said, after Patrick had been silent for a second too long. Patrick finally looked at him—and just as he thought, there was little else but warmth in his eyes. There was a glint there, too, like he thought maybe he could tease Patrick into a better mood.

“David…” Patrick said. He didn’t know how to apologize. He had, after all, gotten David out of bed before noon on a Sunday—he’d been informed many times that there was no crime more twisted or unjust.

“It’s fine, Patrick. It’s just—it was  _ your _ idea.” David didn’t sound annoyed, per se, but maybe a little… frustrated? Like he didn’t know what Patrick needed—which Patrick could understand, because he didn’t know what he needed either.

“I know, but… I can’t come out to my parents over the phone,” he said.

“Why not? If they react badly, you can just hang up… you don’t even have to see their faces. I’ve delivered plenty of bad news that way.”

“Bad news? You think—they’ll react badly?”

“What? No! Of course not… I didn’t mean—I don’t actually know them, Patrick. Do you think they’ll react badly?” Where David had kept his composure before, his face now morphed into several different forms as he spoke. His eyebrows knit together and his mouth twisted into a grimace. It was unclear whether he was more upset with the idea of Patrick’s parents reacting badly or with himself for suggesting it.

“No, I don’t,” Patrick said. 

“Okay, so...”

“I don’t think they’ll react badly. I just think… it might be a lot for them. They’ve never had to handle anything like this before. I’ve always been fairly… low maintenance.”

“Okay, while that may be true… your sexuality isn’t really something for them to ‘handle’. It’s just… information. That you would like to share with them.” David swept his hands out in front of himself, like it really was that simple. And logically, Patrick knew that David was right—him being gay didn’t change anything. It was just relevant information his parents should have. 

Still, Patrick couldn’t help but feel like he was trying to transfer weight from his shoulders to his parents’—burdening them with something he could carry on his own, if he just kept quiet.

“Fine,” he said. “Either way, I think it’s ‘information’ I should share with them in person. They should… look at my face when I tell them. So they can see how happy I am.” 

Patrick was acting like that would be the easier way to do it, but he knew it would actually be harder. David was right—if he couldn’t come out over a phone call, would he be able to do it when he actually had to look at his parent’s faces? What if they did react badly? What if they  _ cried? _

“Oh yeah? How happy are you?” David asked, his voice laced with suggestion. Patrick momentarily forgot his worries—he wanted to sink into the sound, the familiar hum that sent thrills and chills coursing through his body.

“Shut up,” he said, but he could feel his mouth twitching into a smile.

“Make me.” David leaned back on Patrick’s bed, an invitation that could lead him to forget all about his parents. He wanted to accept the invitation, to RSVP, to respond with an enthusiastic  _ yes _ , but...

“David, I am not playing this game with you.” He climbed onto the bed and straddled David’s hips anyway, but he only allowed David one short kiss before he broke it off with a huff. He couldn’t get out of his head.

“Patrick,” David said. He placed a hand on either side of Patrick’s face and locked their eyes together. No one looked at him the way David did—Patrick always felt it physically, like a weight in his stomach. He always felt seen. Sometimes it made him weak in the knees, fragile, emotional. Sometimes it made him strong, confident, and steady. It almost always made his heart race. “If you want to tell them in person, then tell them in person.”

“But—”

“The semester is almost over. You can wait, right?”

“Right… I guess. I just feel like I’m lying to them, you know? And I think they can tell that something is… different.”

“Patrick I don’t know how to make you understand that this isn’t information you owe anybody.” David dropped his hands to Patrick’s thighs. He could feel the press of his fingertips through the cotton of his pajama pants.

“No, you’re right… but it—it’s information I want them to have,” Patrick said. He looked at David and added, “And I want them to know  _ you. _ Who you are to me.”

Patrick was glad that David didn’t taunt him with an  _ oh who am I to you? _ because he really didn’t think he’d be able to explain it with words. There weren’t words, actually—Patrick was pretty sure they didn’t exist. Maybe in another language, maybe in latin. Patrick should really think about learning a second language, if for no reason than to better express his feelings for David.

“I know,” David said, soft and low. He leaned in for a kiss and Patrick met him halfway. He allowed himself a moment, but before he lost himself forever in David’s mouth, he pulled back.

“And, uh, since you brought it up—kind of—what are your plans… for the summer?”

“Oh, um…” David took a minute to reboot, frazzled by either the kiss or the question. “I don’t have any.”

They hadn’t actually talked about this yet. David had shut down any discussion regarding their future—he didn’t want to  _ tempt fate _ —and Patrick had done his best to respect that. And if he was honest, he hadn’t wanted to jinx things either. He hadn’t allowed himself to imagine a summer filled with David when their relationship was still so new. But now… Things had been so good lately and Patrick wanted to make plans. David didn’t honestly expect them to spend the entire summer apart, did he?

Not to mention, with the constant thrum of  _ love _ on the back of Patrick’s tongue, he didn’t think he could last a week without David, let alone months. 

“We could… spend it together? I think my parents would really like to meet you—you know, after.”

“Meet your parents?” David said, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. Not exactly the response Patrick had been hoping for. He shifted himself off of David’s lap and onto the bed beside him where he was less likely to fall prey to distraction. 

“So… I’m sensing some apprehension,” he said.

“No… no, I just… haven't’ met a lot of parents. I’m not exactly…” David stopped and started, his hands dancing in front of him in an attempt to substitute the words he couldn’t seem to get out. “You’re a parents’ dream, Patrick. And while I’d like to believe I’m not  _ exactly _ a nightmare, I’m still not… I’m like one of those weird dreams that cause you to wake up in the middle of the night sweaty and disoriented.”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” Patrick said.

“Not a nightmare, Patrick. Like a… a fever dream. You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

David sighed and said, “I make people uncomfortable. I’ve never met a parent who’s liked me.”

“My parents will,” Patrick said. He felt sure of it.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“Patrick, you don’t even—ugh.” David stopped. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

Patrick pulled at the sleeve of his sweater. “What?”

“Forget it.”

“No I’d really like to know what you were going to say, David.”

With a sigh, David dropped his hands and looked at Patrick. His face was pinched, like he already regretted what he was going to say. Patrick’s stomach swooped, and not in the way it typically did around David. “You don’t even know how they’re going to react to you coming out so I just think it’s a little soon to be planning for me to meet them.”

Ouch. Patrick should have let David keep that one to himself. 

“Right so when you said I could take my time with this… you lied,” Patrick said, trying hard to ignore the gut-wrenching panic that was settling over him. Was this it? Was this the limit of David’s understanding?

“What? No!”

“Well it feels like this bothers you, David, if you can’t even talk about  _ eventually _ meeting my parents.” Patrick didn’t know how to make this better—it felt like everything was coming undone, like David was about to slip away.

“I’ve never been in this position before! I’ve never been in a relationship like this, Patrick.”

This time, the swoop in Patrick’s stomach was more for David—a sympathetic, regretful kind of thing. He wished he could have been there for David sooner, years before he ever learned how to feel unloveable. Was it too late for Patrick to teach him something new?

“I know,” he said.

“Do you?” David said, a desperate kind of challenge in his voice. His eyes were misty but Patrick stopped himself from reaching out. “Because the last time someone wanted me to meet their parents, I was in elementary school and it was so they could tell me their daughter didn’t want to play with me anymore.”

“Well, I still want to play with you David.” It was something he might have said as a joke, to coax that crooked smile onto David’s face. But for once, Patrick wasn’t teasing. He finally gave in and settled a hand on David’s thigh.

David followed Patrick’s hand with his eyes and fixed his focus there while he spoke. “I don’t know how to imagine a future with someone,” he said. “No one has ever wanted me… long-term.”

“I do, David!  _ I _ want you long-term!” 

When David looked up, his eyes were sparkling—not with their usual edge, but with something tender and sore, a gentle kind of pain that came from finally being wanted after a lifetime of dismissal. It broke Patrick’s heart to look at David and know that he truly believed that he would be alone forever. That, after everything, he still doubted how Patrick felt.

And he could say it, right now. Patrick could say  _ I love you, David _ but it wouldn’t be right—not when he was so unsteady. The words would knock him down and that’s the last thing Patrick wanted. No, it wasn’t the right time. And Patrick was—well, Patrick was maybe not ready to say them either.

David swiped a finger at the corner of his eye, dispelling any tears that may have gathered there. After a minute of charged silence, he said, “I want you long-term, too.”

There was a crack in something—David’s walls, Patrick’s heart, the universe; who knew. But Patrick felt it. He gathered David into his arms and held him close.

It took them a while to restart their day—and when they did, things moved slower than usual. David was quiet, fragile in a way that Patrick had seldom seen. He would have been afraid that David was mad at him, had he not clung to his side for the rest of the day, unable to go for any considerable length of time without some form of contact—which Patrick was happy to supply.

They got lunch and dinner together, and when it was nearing midnight and David still hadn’t left, Patrick pulled out a spare t-shirt for him to sleep in. It was bright blue and a little tight—one of Patrick’s t-shirts from high school—and David looked ridiculous and also he looked perfect. The sight of David in his shirt in his bed squeezed at the muscles of Patrick’s heart. He wanted this—this exactly—forever.

Forever.

If he closed his eyes and held David tight enough, would David let him have it?

The days following were similar—fragile and new, but not bad. Everyday Patrick felt like they were building something stronger, something made to last. David seemed to finally  _ get it _ more than he had before—seemed more willing and able to accept Patrick’s love, even if they hadn’t named it yet. 

For the first time in his adult life, Patrick felt… right. He felt hopeful—about his future, about David, about their future together. For the first time,  _ together _ felt like something he could want, something he could have. He’d had companionship before, support, friendship, love—with Rachel, and his family and friends. But he’d never had it like this, like how it was with David. Patrick no longer felt like he was missing something, like his relationship was disappointing or lacking in any way, he no longer felt—he no longer felt  _ lonely, _ he realized.

What a stark and startling contrast to how he had felt last semester.

Patrick stood outside the art room, allowing himself a moment to remember the first time he had seen it—the paint splattered everywhere, the used furniture and the maze of easels. How it had set something buzzing within him. He thought of how it looked then and how it looked now; only changed through the lens of who he was then… and who he was now.

If he had never set foot in this classroom, had never met David… would he even know this fundamental thing about himself? Or would he still be the same Patrick he was last semester—overwhelmed with anxieties about his future, and floundering aimlessly, grasping at any straws that might help him make sense of who he was?

He spotted David sitting at his easel, perfectly content among the oil paints and canvases. There was something about David and art—Patrick had rarely seen him look so sure of himself, so at ease, anywhere else. 

It always took his breath away, the sharp contrast of David against the backdrop of the art room. David was clean and bold and dark. The art room was bright and full of color and always, always a mess. David belonged even if he didn’t match.

Patrick finally walked inside and over to David, where he sat waiting. Patrick leaned in and kissed him firmly on the mouth. David scowled, but there was a smile hidden underneath, like he didn’t mind that much after all. 

Now that Patrick was out at school, he had dispensed with all pretense. He could—he  _ would _ —kiss his boyfriend in public if he wanted to. David indulged him, despite his particular stance on PDA. 

Though Patrick didn’t do it to stake his claim or out any sense of possessiveness, he had thought that maybe kissing David in the classroom would cause Jake to back off—that it would serve as a silent signal that David was unavailable. But Patrick didn’t know Jake very well, so how could he predict that it would actually have the opposite effect? Now he too was the recipient of Jake’s flirtations. 

It was something he laughed about with David, and honestly, it made him feel good. He still thought Jake wasn’t his type, but it was kind of nice to be openly flirted with in such a cheap, demeaning way. To be recognized as a gay man in public. Patrick couldn’t quite explain it, but David understood. He offered to pinch Patrick’s ass next time they walked down the hall together, but Patrick didn’t think it had to go quite that far.

Still, Patrick was grateful that Jake kept things professional while he was modeling. He had only _ just _ stopped blushing every time Jake derobed, and that was mostly because the things he’d done with David had made a simple naked body seem mundane. It was easier now to focus on painting.

Not that Patrick’s skills had improved much.

Or maybe he wasn't half bad, if the sample pool was made up of children and other business majors. But compared to David, or the other art majors, Patrick was… mediocre. Only with David’s help could he make something he was proud of— and David was always supportive. Patrick had a hard time believing his praises at first, considering how aesthetically driven David was, but he’d eventually learned that David was uncharacteristically open-minded about art. Sure, he had his opinions—he was still David—but he could recognize the merit in any piece of art and talk, at length, about what made it strong. He made Patrick feel like art was worth making, even if he didn’t get it right every time.

That’s why, when their professor reminded them about the art show at the end of the semester, Patrick didn’t immediately reject the idea of submitting something. Every student had a spot if they wanted it—it wasn’t a competition. If it had been, Patrick wouldn’t have considered it… but, with David’s support… well, maybe.

“Let me know if you’re submitting something by the end of next week,” their professor said as Patrick and David gathered their things and cleaned their stations. Patrick took a minute to put it in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget.

They walked out of the building together and when it came time for Patrick to go to therapy, he didn’t want to let go of David’s hand. It was soft and warm and fit perfectly in Patrick’s—he wanted to worship whoever had put him in charge of holding it. But eventually, with the promise of dinner afterwards, Patrick let go.

With all of his emotions hanging out on the surface—his growing love for David, as well as the metaphorical bruise from their recent argument (were they calling it an argument?) and this  _ thing _ with his parents—Patrick had been looking forward to therapy all week. 

He’d told his therapist last week about coming out to his baseball team, but had left out all of the  _ I love yous _ that had been filtering through his mind. It had still been too new to say out loud to anyone. Now, however, it was a week later and Patrick felt like he had to tell someone. His therapist, he had to tell his therapist.

“I think I’m in love with David,” he said.

His therapist just looked at him and said, “Okay.”

Patrick had been hoping for a little more guidance, wisdom, support,  _ something _ . He tried to swallow his aggravation as he asked, “Is it too soon?”

“You tell me.”

“I think… it’s too soon.” Patrick sighed. He didn’t really know if he believed what he was saying, but it was the easiest way to explain what he was feeling. “I mean, we haven’t even been together two months yet.”

“So?”

“So I think… he’s scared.”

“You think David is scared?”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a moment, his therapist leaving room for Patrick to elaborate. When he didn’t, she prompted, “Why is David scared?”

“This is all new for him. He has trouble… picturing things long term.”

David deserved so much, and Patrick wanted to be the one to give it to him. He wanted to protect David. If that meant taking things slow while they learned to trust each other, then that was what he would do.

“Isn’t this new for you, too?”

“I was with Rachel for three years.”

“But you weren’t happy.”

“True, but… commitment is my comfort zone.”

“And not David’s.”

“Right.”

“And does that make you nervous?”

“You think  _ I’m _ scared?” Patrick said. He was careful, sure… but scared? 

“I’m asking you.”

“I… don’t know.”

“Hey, I could be wrong. It just seems like maybe you and David have a lot of the same concerns,” she said.

Was it possible that every time David had hesitated or been anxious, every time he had seen their relationship as something fleeting, he had been echoing Patrick’s exact thoughts? Had they  _ both _ really never thought they could have something like this? Patrick remembered every story David had told about a disappointing ex, how he couldn’t necessarily relate to the circumstance but he could certainly relate to the feelings—how they had both believed, ultimately, that they would never find real love.

“I guess,” Patrick started, his frustration finally getting the better of him.“I keep telling David that he has nothing to worry about. That I want him long-term… that this feels permanent… but what if he’s right? What if we’re not together forever?”

“Listen, Patrick. Love is a choice, but—”

“Isn’t that the opposite of what you’re supposed to say to a gay kid?”

“I didn’t say being gay is a choice, Patrick. I said  _ love _ is a choice. If you want forever, with anyone, you have to work to make that happen. That being said, a lot of things don’t last forever. That doesn’t mean they aren’t important. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t embrace them while you have them.”

“I am scared,” he finally admitted.

“That’s okay. It’s normal to be scared—love is a big, fragile feeling.”

“I promised Rachel forever so many times.”

“We never mean to break our promises, Patrick. But it does happen.”

“I don’t like the way it feels.”

“That makes sense.”

“I think I’m angry a lot,” Patrick said. Sometimes it was easier for him to lump all of his negative feelings together and label them something vague like guilt or regret—if he refused to look at them too closely, they all sort of felt the same, didn’t they? Like a big hazy cloud of  _ bad _ . He could forget that they were distinct emotions, and if he could forget what they were… he could forget where they came from.

“Angry about what?”

“I’m angry… at myself, mostly. For not knowing sooner. For hurting Rachel, for lying to my parents.” Patrick paused for a second to breathe, in and out, to try to cool the burning in his chest that sparked every time his thoughts wandered this way. It wasn’t working, and soon he felt that burn behind his eyes too. He blinked. “I’m angry at my parents too, I think. For not  _ telling _ me that this was an option. And my—my teachers, and my friends… for not talking about it. Why didn’t I figure it out—why didn’t I  _ know?” _

Patrick didn’t realize he was crying until he was trying desperately to wipe the tears away before they fell. He hadn’t realized… how bitter he felt—that maybe the reason he was having such a hard time talking to his parents lately wasn't because he was scared but because he was mad. Maybe he was keeping part of himself a secret now, but they had kept who  _ he could be _ a secret from him his entire life.

It wasn’t that they wouldn’t understand—Patrick knew they would…They were kind, good people. It wasn’t that at all. It was the fact that he had to declare himself, that he had to reintroduce himself to everyone he knew… that he had to say  _ hey I’m not who you thought I was _ and present himself to be judged, to be met with sympathetic approval or rejected on the spot… that he would have to come out to everyone he met for the rest of his life… David had told him how it was like rolling a die everytime you met someone new, except you weren’t gambling with money—you were gambling with your safety, or your comfort, your privacy, or your right to basic respect. 

Sometimes Patrick thought it couldn’t possibly be worth it. Then he’d remember how his friends had acted like nothing had changed, how Rachel had been happy for him… How David looked at him and touched him and kissed him—and he thought, instead, that nothing could possibly be  _ more _ worth it.

His therapist handed him a tissue.

“Despite what you may have been taught, a little bit of anger is healthy. Often, it’s how we recognize that we’ve been mistreated… It puts us on the path towards acknowledging that we deserve better, going forward.”

“And… how do I find that path?” Patrick asked.

“You could start by telling people what you need from them, what kind of treatment you expect.”

That sounded reasonable, Patrick thought. He could talk to his parents. They would want to know why he hadn’t told them sooner, why he had kept it a secret. There would maybe have to be more than one conversation, but he could simply start with the truth. He could start with  _ I’m gay _ and  _ this is David. _

“And the other thing…” he said.

“Love?”

“What do I do about that?”

“I think you continue making promises, Patrick, and you try your best to keep them.”

Promises were harder, promises could hurt people—but, he supposed, promises could heal people too. Patrick thought that both he and David could use some healing.

And despite everything he had gotten wrong, Patrick still sent a silent thank you to his past self for being brave enough to start therapy. It had brought him the tools he needed to understand himself, to grow into somebody he knew—somebody he wanted to know. Someone, he thought, he’d like other people to know too.

Later that night, after they’d had dinner and as David was lifting a fork full of tiramisu to his mouth, Patrick said, “So, change of plans.”

David, regretfully, lowered his fork. “What?” he asked.

“I think,” Patrick paused to consider his words, before continuing, “I think I’m going to invite my parents to the art show.”

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support ! <3

David had a few coping mechanisms when it came to managing his anxiety: breathing exercises, counting down from one hundred, and pacing to get rid of nervous energy. None of them worked every time, but he liked to exhaust all of his options before he succumbed to a panic attack.

He paced the length of his bedroom, from his door to his window. When his bedroom became too small he paced around his apartment. When the sunlight streaming through the windows began to change he thought maybe he had been pacing too long. It wasn’t even working.

David needed a distraction. He still had hours before the reception—not so few that he could begin getting ready, not so many that he would risk taking a nap (as if he could even fall asleep in this state). He had little else to occupy his thoughts—he had finished his paintings days ago, leaving just enough time before the show for the oil paint to dry, and he had dropped them off last night, even though they were supposed to be dropped off three days ago. And he only had two finals next week, but how could he possibly concentrate on studying  _ now? _

The thing, the  _ only _ thing, that kept him balanced on the edge without going over was Patrick’s voice in the back of his head saying  _ I want you long-term. _ David knew that this—tonight—was how they got to long-term. Patrick coming out. David meeting his parents. And if it didn’t go well… They might never get to see how long long-term could be.

Did it help to go over the worst case scenario? That was a technique right? You ran through every possible thing that could go wrong and figured out how you would handle it? And then, with any luck, you’d realize that maybe things wouldn’t be so bad and that you were more equipped to handle failure than you originally thought?

Like if Patrick’s parents weren’t supportive and they—nope. 

The worst case scenario made David want to throw up. He’d have to remember to cross that technique off his metaphorical list.

Did David normally sweat this much? He was glad they kept the gallery so cold or else Patrick might be introducing his parents to a puddle dressed in a designer sweater. David needed a distraction before he wore a hole in Stevie’s thrifted rug, or worse, in the sole of his shoe.

Where was Stevie?

Stevie was working, David remembered, but Stevie was also his only friend and the only person he could talk to when Patrick wasn’t an option. And Patrick wasn’t an option right now because he had his own worries to manage, no matter that their worries were actually the  _ same _ . 

They had seen each other just a few hours ago. Patrick had been… jittery, maybe. Distracted, definitely. Nervous, too. Patrick, who had been known to forget his phone in his dorm room on the regular, clutched it in his hand and checked it almost constantly. David, needing a distraction himself, had done his best to distract Patrick. It only worked for a little while before Patrick begged off, claiming he’d feel more at ease if he could get some schoolwork done before tonight.

David had let him go. He would not burden Patrick with his own intense anxiety and nausea when Patrick likely had enough on his plate—not today.

So Stevie. 

The semester didn’t end until next week so, presumably, there wouldn’t be many check-ins at her hotel—no parents staying for the weekend to collect their kids or watch them graduate. Stevie was probably bored out of her mind, switching back and forth between twitter and solitaire on her phone. Maybe sudoku when solitaire got boring. David would really be doing her a favor by stopping by.

He’d managed to convince himself that was true by the time he left his apartment.

David was  _ not _ doing her a favor.

As it so happens, the art show was not the only on-campus event happening this weekend—there were sports things and competitions, performances and a slew of other end-of-the-year festivities that, apparently, parents liked to attend. Stevie was swamped.

David could only borrow her ear for minutes at a time in between check-ins. He was surprised to find out that Stevie was actually good at her job—efficient enough to garner few complaints and blunt enough to scare off the guests who tried.

“If you’re going to hang out here, at least make yourself useful,” Stevie said. She chucked a roll of paper towels at David, which he miraculously caught, and set a bottle of all-purpose-cleaner on the desk between them. 

He grimaced at her and opened his mouth to say something smart, but Stevie turned away to check in another guest before he could. He reluctantly picked up the bottle and began to clean every flat surface he could find, somehow comforted by the meditative rhythm of the chore.

A half hour later the hotel was probably cleaner than it had ever been and there was a lull in check-ins. David rejoined Stevie at her desk.

“So what’s wrong?” she said.

“Why would you—why would something be wrong?” He thought he sounded casual as he handed over the cleaning supplies, but apparently he did not retain his mother’s theatrical abilities. 

Stevie grimaced at him and said, “David, the last time you visited me at work was before your second date with Patrick. The time before that you couldn’t get in touch with your family for three days—”

“Okay, who does a ‘technology cleanse’ and forgets to tell their son?”

“—so as much as I’d like to believe you find this hotel a super fun, hip place to hang out… you only come here when you’re panicky.”

“I’m not panicky, I’m—”

“Nervous?”

“No,” David insisted.

“Worried?”

“No! I’m not nervous or worried or  _ panicky. _ I’m maybe a little on edge, but I’m not panicky.” He leaned against the front desk and pulled his bottom lip into his mouth. Visiting Stevie was a mistake if she was only going to make him confront his emotions. They’d both gotten so good at never discussing anything of substance—unless it was substance abuse—so why stop now?

“David, ‘on edge’ describes you on a good day,” Stevie said, ducking behind the desk to store the cleaning products. “Look, it’s understandable that you’d be a little anxious about meeting your boyfriend's parents for the first time.”

David rolled his eyes. He hummed in affirmation, or maybe annoyance, or maybe both.

“Or is it the show you’re worried about?” Stevie said. She cocked her head to the side, a plain smile on her face. David hated that stupid smile. “You know, baring your soul to crowds of people… it’d make me nervous.”

“That’s because you have no soul,” David spat. “You vile, wretched—”

“Hi, welcome to The Marigold Hotel. Checking in?” Stevie’s transition from provocateur to professional was smooth and impressive, David hated to admit. He stepped to the side to watch her handle the guest.

It was another five minutes before they could resume their conversation.

“Look, David. It’ll be fine. Just don’t talk too much and keep your eyebrows in check.”

“My eyebrows—”

“They have a tendency to intimidate.”

“Oh and you’re a champion in facial amiability?”

Stevie scoffed. “Absolutely not, but I’m not the one trying to make a good impression.”

“Right,” David said. “It’s just…”

“What?”

“Okay don't say anything, but…” David leaned in and lowered his voice, “Patrick isn’t… out, yet.”

“He’s what?” Stevie nearly shouted. 

David leaned impossibly closer to grip her arm. He would have ripped the entire limb off her body if that’s what it took to get her to keep her voice down. “Sh, shh! What is wrong with you?”

“Sorry, I’m just… oh my god, David.”

“It’s not a big deal. He’s taking them to dinner before the show and… he’s going to tell them. Hopefully it goes well.”

“‘Hopefully it goes well’?”

“Yes, what? Hopefully it goes well and my boyfriend’s parents don’t hate him and, by extension, me! Hopefully it goes well!”

“You’re not going to be there?” Stevie asked.

“No. I thought they could… use some privacy.”

“Right,” she said and then, for good measure, added another, “Oh my god.”

“Any other words of wisdom you’d like to offer?” David asked. Seriously, why had he come here? She’d only made things worse. He definitely felt worse, right?

“Yeah,” she said. “What are you going to wear?”

“I have three outfits picked out,” David said.

“That’s it?” Stevie was teasing, but it slowly dawned on him that she might be right. Nothing in David’s closet said ‘meet the parents’.

He’d handpicked every item in his wardrobe over the span of years to say, for lack of poetic phrasing, something to the effect of ‘fuck off’. David had wanted, for so many years, to appear unapproachable. It had worked until Patrick fucking Brewer had decided to approach him. And now he had to meet his sweet, small-town boyfriend’s sweet, small-town parents. And he had to look like he was a good choice for a first boyfriend and not some… act of rebellion you dated in order to spite your parents, which he had been on multiple occasions.

“Oh my god, Stevie. What am I going to wear?”

“Okay I didn’t mean to send you into crisis mode.”

“No, Stevie. You’re right, oh my god. Everything I’ve picked out is all wrong! Oh my god, his parents are going to see me and make him break up with me!” David was definitely closing in on panicky  _ now, _ thanks to Stevie.

“Okay David, I think we need to relax—”

“No, no. Five seconds out of the closet and what? He’s going to introduce his parents to me like, ‘Mom, dad, this is my boyfriend David. He wears skirts.’ Oh my god.”

“I really doubt that’s how it will go,” Stevie said. She’d been busy at work for hours but it was talking with David for ten minutes that made her look exhausted. 

“I have nothing to wear,” David said.

“You own 199 sweaters.”

“Actually it's 200. I did end up buying that Rick Owens from ebay.”

“Okay, David?” Stevie said, fixing him in place with her most withering stare. “Your materialistic tendencies and lack of closet space are two problems we can tackle next week. Let’s focus on tonight.”

“Right,” David sighed. “I just don’t want to mess this up.”

“I know.”

“I’ve never cared what other people thought of my clothes before.”

“I know.”

“Do you think it’s too much to change halfway through the show?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just…” David began, his hands moving in an effort to help his words explain, “I have an outfit that looks better in natural light and one that looks better under fluorescents.”

“But you’ll be inside the entire time,” Stevie said. Of course she wouldn’t understand his vision. 

“What if I have to meet Patrick and his parents outside the gallery?” David asked.

“Just tell him to meet you... inside.”

“You’re right,” David said. “That could work.”

He began to mentally search through his closet, bookmarking any combination of clothing that could work for tonight. Nothing too… Nothing  _ too much. _ Although… Patrick always liked his clothes. Patrick was with him for a reason. Patrick liked  _ him _ —and shockingly, all David had ever done to make that happen was be himself.

Maybe it wasn’t the time to go changing things around, just yet.

David’s eyes must have glazed over at some point because Stevie was suddenly snapping her poorly manicured fingers in front of his face. He should buy her some cuticle cream.

“David,” she said, with one more snap.

“I don’t know what to wear,” he whined.

“And you think I can help you with that?”

“No,” he said. “No I don’t.”

“You could just wear what you’re wearing now.”

“This is not a gallery outfit Stevie. This is an apartment outfit. People aren’t supposed to see me in this.”

“I think you look perfectly presentable,” a kind voice, somewhere next to David, said. He turned to look at the woman and was met with eyes kinder than her voice and a smile that seemed familiar. She was accompanied by a man and a singular duffle bag between them. 

“Thank you,” he said. He didn’t know how to talk to nice strangers. He knew how to hurl insults over his shoulder when someone bumped into him on the street or spilled a hot beverage on his white Neil Barrett ribbed knee bleached skinny jeans, but this… was new. “Um, it’s just—I have an event tonight and this is a little too casual for—but thank you.”

“He’s meeting his boyfriend’s parents,” Stevie gleefully added. David shot her a glare he hoped said something along the line of  _ shouldn’t you be working? _ He would have actually said it, but he didn’t like to undermine her in front of guests. He had some tact.

“Oh!” the woman said, “I’m sure you’ll dazzle them no matter what!”

David thought he smiled at her, but really polite pleasantries had never been a skill of his. Did strangers ever actually mean the nice things they said? Or were they just trying to make people like them? David thought the woman might be different. She might have actually been complimenting David. He also thought that might be  _ worse. _

“We have a reservation,” the man said. “Clint Brewer.”

_ Oh. _ David’s mouth went dry.

“Oh,” Stevie said and David shot her another look, a pursed-lip-slight-shake-of-the-head look that said  _ don’t. _

So of course she  _ did. _

“Are you Patrick’s parents?” She asked and why would she—

“Yes! Do you know Patrick?” Mrs. Brewer seemed so excited at the prospect of meeting Patrick’s friends that David nearly forgot to remember to curse Stevie out later.

Stevie, in her defense, seemed to realize all too late the kind of conversational path she had led them down and looked to David with an apology on her face.

“Uh, yes,” David said, raising his eyebrows a second before remembering what Stevie had said. He tried to keep his features neutral. “We have an art class together.” 

_ I’ve seen him naked, _ he didn’t say.

“Oh! Will you be at the show tonight?”

“We will—hence the, uh, wardrobe conundrum you witnessed earlier.”

“I would hardly call it a conundrum,” Stevie muttered, but she had the good sense not to meet David’s eyes as she said it. She turned to her computer to begin the check-in process for the Brewers. 

And despite the baffling circumstance he now found himself in, David thought maybe it wasn’t so bad to meet the Brewers before they knew who he actually was. At least, his prospective ensemble didn’t seem so daunting anymore. 

“Well it’s nice of you to support Patrick tonight,” David said. “At the show.”

“Oh we were just thrilled when he invited us. Will your family be there?”

“Oh god, no. They’re not really… We don’t really do that.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s…” but David didn’t really know what it was, so he just waved his hand in a desperate grasp at levity. 

Mrs. Brewer tilted her head with a sympathetic smile, but David didn’t have to live under it for long. Her attention was, mercifully, reallocated when Stevie slid their room key across the counter. After that there seemed to be little reason for them to dawdle. 

“Well,” Mrs. Brewer said, “We’ll see you tonight?” She had such an honest face—it was a face that said  _ I’ll mother you if your own mother won’t _ and David nearly took her up on it. Her eyes were just like Patrick’s and David didn’t think he could handle their weight if she turned out to disapprove of him, later on. 

“See you tonight,” he said.  _ Please don’t hate me, _ he thought.

They headed toward their room and then it was just David and Stevie once more. He let out a big breath and turned to her.

“You’re coming tonight, right?”

“Oh you could not pay me to stay away,” she said.

David texted Patrick as he left the hotel to let him know what had happened. Thankfully, visiting Stevie had taken longer than he’d thought, and it was now within the acceptable window of time before the show to begin getting ready—for David anyway. He might require more time than the average person, especially if he had to pick out an entirely new outfit.

David threw himself into his routine, not pausing to think about what Patrick might be doing—was Patrick also getting ready, was Patrick on his way to dinner, was Patrick sitting in a booth across from his parents, telling them—no. He dodged every thought as it came at him, like some sort of mind athlete. Patrick would be proud. 

David pulled on his Neil Barrett Lightning Bolt Sweatshirt. David felt good in it and, if nothing else, Patrick would probably like it. 

David left his apartment, still not thinking about what Patrick was doing.

Aside from a few students and their professor milling about, the gallery was mostly empty when David arrived. He cringed as he took in the signage—a framed poster hanging just outside the gallery that said ‘Figuratively Speaking!’ in a bold font. David had  _ not _ been involved in choosing the name. 

Despite the unfortunate title, the show had come together really well. There was an obvious care taken to the arrangement of artwork—no one piece pulled focus from another. Sketches were interspersed amongst canvases of varying sizes. The effect was inviting. David took advantage of the empty gallery—it was quiet, serene. The perfect conditions under which to view art. The bright lights, the white walls, the strong smell of  _ nothing _ (exactly how a gallery should smell, no freshly applied paint or cleaning products—the only time a gallery should smell like anything was when they were serving food), allowed David to truly focus on the art.

He felt comfortable here. He wasn’t necessarily calm, but he felt more at peace than he had all day. There was something buzzing through him, a feeling similar to anxiety, but different. Better. Excitement? It seemed possible that if everything went well, David could actually enjoy the night. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate the feeling, before the inevitable worry crawled it’s way back inside him.

Because when Stevie arrived moments later, she brought the panic with her.

“Where’s Patrick?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him.”

“You haven’t heard from him? What does that mean?”

“What do you mean, ‘what does that mean’? It doesn’t mean anything! It means—It means he’s at dinner with his parents and everything is fine and I’m sure he’ll be here soon!”

“I’m sorry I asked,” she said.

“So am I,” David hissed.

They loitered off to the side, in view of the doors, watching as the gallery began to fill up—person after person, couple after couple. Still, no Patrick.

“Oh my god,” David said. “What if—” He pulled out his phone, hoping for anything from Patrick, but there was nothing. Which was fine. He’d said he was going to text when they were on their way, but it was fine. They were delayed, having a really nice family dinner, or Patrick forgot… 

David was not going to let himself spiral. There was nothing he could do about it. If the worst case scenario did happen, he would be there for Patrick. No matter what. 

“David,” Stevie said.

When he looked at her she jerked her chin in the direction of the door. David turned and—

Patrick.

David felt like he could breathe again. Why was Patrick in charge of his lung capacity? It hardly seemed fair.

He was flanked on either side by his parents, but David barely noticed. Patrick looked too good for David’s attention to wander. He wore a navy blazer over a light blue button up and dark-wash jeans that did him all sorts of favors. David fixated on Patrick’s clothing for perhaps a bit too long, avoiding his face. Once he looked, he would know.

David's eyes snagged on Patrick’s and, for a moment, he was so overwhelmed with his feelings that he nearly launched his body into Patrick’s arms. What would his parents think about  _ that? _

What  _ would _ his parents think about that?

David finally allowed himself to take in Patrick’s entire face. It was flushed and there was a definite red tinge around his eyes—there had been tears—but overall, Patrick looked… good. David had to assume that things had gone okay. 

And then Patrick smiled and David’s stomach stirred with something—relief and pride and something  _ more _ than both of those things combined.

Patrick had come out to his parents. It was okay. And now, David was about to, officially, meet them. He thought that might be okay too. 

David felt like they were at the beginning of something. Something very big.

“Hi,” David whispered.

“Hi,” Patrick said, and then, in front of his parents and Stevie and an array of nameless gallery patrons, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to David’s cheek. 

It burned hotter than any kiss that had come before it.

Patrick pulled back and turned to his parents.

“Mom, Dad… This is my boyfriend, David.” The words sounded heavy in Patrick’s mouth, distinctly unlike the other times he had said them. Whether the emotion came from leftover fear or relief, David couldn’t quite tell. Despite the support he seemed to have, every subsequent step Patrick took still seemed to be difficult. Sometimes it took time for things to settle, for the rough edges to smooth into something more comfortable, easy.

David squeezed Patrick’s arm before stepping forward to shake his father’s hand. His mother opted for a hug instead.

“See?” she whispered between them. “What did I tell you? Dazzling.”

_ Dazzling. _ David liked the way it sounded.

Stevie stepped forward to reintroduce herself and David took it as an opportunity for a moment of privacy with Patrick.

“Dinner was okay?”

“Dinner was… yeah, dinner was okay. Things will be good, I think. I meant to text you, but my phone died. I’m sorry—”

David shook his head. It didn’t matter.

“I’m—”  _ so proud, _ David wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. He settled for a kiss instead and hoped that Patrick knew—and if they both had to fight back tears, everyone had the good grace not to mention it. 

“Patrick, honey,” Mrs. Brewer said. “Why don’t you show me your painting?”

“Of course,” Patrick said, dropping David’s hand with a final squeeze. “This way.”

Patrick led his mother away, to the other side of the gallery. Stevie also made herself scarce and David realized, too late, that he was left alone with Clint. Mr. Brewer? Patrick’s father—he was left alone with Patrick’s father. (The nomenclature would take some figuring out.)

“You know,” he began, and David was not eager to find out what kind of conversation this was going to be. “When Patrick called us last week to invite us to an art show, of all things, I thought there must’ve been something he wanted to tell us.”

David remained silent beside him, taking Stevie’s advice for once. Don’t talk. They stood in front of an abstract painting and David wondered how long it would take Clint to realize it was a collage of distorted genitalia, if he hadn’t already. 

“I thought he was going to tell us he wanted to change his major to art,” Clint continued.

“Oh god,” David said before he could stop himself. “Can you imagine?”

“No,” Clint laughed. “No, I can’t. Not that we wouldn’t support him, of course. But it would be so out of left field, so out of sync with the Patrick we know. He’s always been a numbers guy—facts and figures and data. Never much interest in art. It made me think that maybe I don’t know my son as well as I thought I did.”

David fought the urge to say  _ you know your son _ and  _ this doesn’t change who he is. _ They were placations that didn’t fit here. There had been a wedge between Patrick and his parents for a while now, so it was exceedingly possible that they didn’t know who their son was anymore and David would never do that to Patrick—never try to insist that he could still fit in the mold his parents had made for him.

“He’s not changing his major.” It was the only assurance David could offer.

“No, but… I still don’t know him as well as I thought I did. As well as I’d like to.”

David didn’t know how to proceed here. This was not the kind of conversation he’d had before with… anyone, let alone a partner’s parents. What would Patrick want him to say?

“I think… he wants that, too.”

“We’re so proud of the man he’s becoming.”

“He’s the best person I know,” David said, the honesty taking even him by surprise.

Clint finally turned away from the painting to look at David. David felt… observed. Not  _ seen _ in the same way that Patrick saw him, but there was a similar purpose in his father’s eyes. Like maybe he couldn’t quite see to David’s core, but he would try his best if it meant something to his son. And if he couldn’t quite understand, there was at least the intention to try.

Clint was a good man, David decided.

“David… I wanted to say— _ we _ wanted to say thank you.”

“I don’t understand,” David said. He shook his head. This was not the conversation he thought it was going to be. Nowhere near it, in fact. There was no  _ you better treat my son right _ or  _ you’re not good enough for him  _ or  _ this is a phase and he’ll get over it. _

“We weren’t there for Patrick when we should have been.” Clint sighed and raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck. It was a Patrick gesture and David couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “He’s always had a lot of friends, you know? He always liked to surround himself with people, through sports or clubs—he even volunteered one summer at a nursing home. Patrick is a people-person… so to think he didn’t have anyone to talk to, that he couldn’t even talk to us… We’ve been worried about him, but when he told us tonight that he was in love… that he was  _ gay, _ we were relieved more than anything—”

“He said that?” David asked and Clint seemed to realize what he was referring to, which group of words David had latched on to.

“Well, I—I might be paraphrasing,” he faltered.

“Right,” David said, disappointed to not have the confirmation. But he supposed he’d rather hear it from Patrick anyway. He wondered if it would be tonight.

“Anyway, David,” Clint rushed right past the faux pas. “I’m only trying to say that I’ve never seen my son so happy before. I think that’s mostly your doing, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s a really lovely thing to say, thank you. Your approval means a lot to me… And to Patrick.”

“Well, he’s got it. You both do.”

David nodded and tried his best to remain composed. A lot had happened today, and David was emotional under the best circumstances, and he really didn’t want to do a face-mask tonight, but if he cried one more time he would  _ have to— _

Clint’s attention had drifted back to the painting on the wall. Apparently, while David was worrying about skincare, Clint was doing some art analysis. His eyebrows ticked up and he pointed to the painting.

“Is that—” Clint looked to David, but before he could finish the question that would lead them right into  _ another _ awkward conversation, Patrick and Marcy, like angels sent from heaven, returned to their sides.

Patrick immediately slotted his hand into David’s, where it belonged.

“How are you?” David whispered.

Patrick tucked his smiling face into David’s shoulder and said nothing.  _ Happy, _ David thought. He wasn’t quite glowing, but it was a near thing.

David’s heart skipped.

_ In love. _

Was David in love? Would he recognize the feeling if he were? He couldn’t be sure, but he thought whatever this feeling was that was buzzing between them—it was good. He’d certainly never had it before. He’d certainly like to keep it.

He kissed Patrick’s temple.

Stevie rejoined them and, as a group, they made a lap around the gallery. David showed them his paintings, one of which was a collage of Patrick’s hands and fragments of his face overlapping each other, painted in shades of blue. It was easy to miss if you didn’t know. Patrick knew, and Stevie knew, and David thought Marcy might have known—but she said nothing beyond complementing his talent. 

It was about an hour and a half into the reception when their attention was directed to the back of the gallery. 

“Good evening, everyone!” Their professor stood on a low platform with a microphone in her hand, waiting for the crowd to settle before she continued. “Thank you all for joining us at the opening reception for Figuratively Speaking, this year’s student art show!” She paused again for applause.

“Did you choose the name?” Stevie whispered, jumping to the side when David moved to pinch her. 

“You know I did  _ not, _ ” he said.

“This collection of work focuses on the human body in all its glorious shapes and sizes, various forms rendered through various types of media—”

“Well, I don’t know Alexis! We’re simply following your lead!”

A woman’s voice, harsh and loud, cut through that of the professor—an impressive feat, considering one of them had a microphone and the other did not.

“If you had followed my lead earlier—”

“Don’t talk to your mother that way, Alexis.”

“I’m just  _ saying—” _

Every single head in the gallery swiveled—in what seemed like a choreographed unity—towards the disruption. The Brewers, Stevie, and David all among them. 

Oh god.

That was his mother. And his father. And leading them both—in six-inch heels and some sort of floppy feathered monstrosity on top of her head—was Alexis.

His family.

_ Oh god. _

David was nauseated. He was disgusted. He was irritated and embarrassed and he could not stop smiling. He was smiling. That couldn't be right, could it? Surely he was… grimacing, or frowning… not—How could he convince his face that he wasn’t happy about this?

He looked at Stevie, who seemed thrilled. Art receptions were not her usual scene, so the arrival of the Roses seemed to wake her up a bit. David raised an eyebrow as if to say  _ did you do this, _ but Stevie only shrugged and nodded towards Patrick. 

Patrick, his boyfriend, who was smiling and waving his hand to catch his families’ attention. Had he… There’s no way. Not with everything else he’d had to juggle today.

“Oh look there’s David! David!” Alexis waved her hand as she cut a pathway through the crowd.

Interspersed with his sister’s squealing and his mother’s magniloquence, David could hear snippets of his professor’s speech, which she had chosen to trudge through despite the interruption.

“—between abstraction and realism—”

“David!” his mother said, leaning in to place a kiss in the general vicinity of his cheek. “Look at where we are! Isn’t this truly winsome, John?”

“Okay, it’s not the Louvre,” David said. He tried to maintain his standard level of cynicism, because if he slipped up… if he let the happiness bubble out, his family would know that he loved them and then they would never let it go. Alexis would mock him for eternity. 

“Oh, well of course it’s not dear—”

“Moira—”

“David! Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Alexis asked, her question punctuated by a combination wink-blink in Patrick’s direction.

“—contributions from art-majors as well as non-majors—”

David supposed an official introduction was unavoidable, given everything Patrick had gone through tonight. He sighed. He’d thought he would have a little more time to figure this out… To make the introductions as painless as possible. Like maybe David would introduce Patrick to his family one at a time, in short intervals, the way you do when you need to socialize a rescue dog. And then David would bribe him with a fancy dinner and baseball tickets to forget it had ever happened… This way was, frankly, less than ideal.

David was still kind of glad it was happening though.

“Fine!” David said. He took Patrick’s arm and turned to his family. “This is my boyfriend Patrick and his parents—” 

But before David could manage to take control of the situation, there was a cacophony of  _ nice to meet yous _ and limbs tangling together in sloppy handshakes. The whole thing was very messy and drew a lot of attention. Thankfully his professor had finally abandoned her speech, leaving the masses to scatter and attempt to interpret the art on their own. David would have to hunt her down later this week to formally apologize.

David was able to tug Patrick out of the fray for a moment of privacy. He kissed Patrick on the lips and when they broke apart he kept his nose slotted against Patrick’s

“Did you do this?” he whispered.

“It was—I’m sorry, I should have asked.” Patrick actually looked guilty, like he hadn’t just done the most incredible thing for David. 

“No, no!” David rushed to reassure him. “I just… didn’t realize I wanted them here until… they were  _ here. _ Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Patrick said. His voice was low and his eyes were on David’s mouth a second before his lips were there. It was the same way they had kissed so many times before, and yet… It was entirely different, entirely new. It was a victory kiss, a celebration kiss, a this-is-the-start-of-our-future kiss. 

And as much as David wanted to live in that kiss forever, he needed Patrick to know what it meant to him—to see his family here, to know that they had shown up for him. That they might do it again, if David could learn how to ask for it. He pulled back.

“This is  _ not _ nothing, Patrick. You had your own family to worry about today.”

“Right,” he said. “So it was actually kind of nice to worry about something else… But then Alexis was texting me for directions all day and my phone died so I couldn’t even text  _ you _ and then they were still late anyway—”

“Yes, well if you  _ had _ asked, I would have told you this would happen.”

“Hm,” Patrick said. “It must be a family thing.”

“Hey! I am not always late.”

“No, you’re right. Only about half the time.”

“That’s generous,” David said. He was definitely late more than half the time, but if Patrick was willing to let him get away with it…“Thank you.”

“Well, I’m a very generous person.”

And then they were kissing again and it was unclear who had started it and who was controlling it. They pulled back, but Patrick brought their foreheads together instead.

“Next time I’ll tell them it starts earlier,” he said.

“Yes,” David agreed. “Next time that is what you should do.” 

David lived for next-times. He could accept any mess-up, any lousy date or failed plans—David could accept things not going his way if it meant that Patrick never stopped promising him a do-over, a next-time, an  _ again. _

Long-term, forever, next time. Right now, it all sounded like the same thing to David. And it all sounded  _ very _ good.

David saw his father’s head pop up above the crowd, like he was looking for them. David wanted to see his family, he was glad they were here… but he also wanted to be alone with Patrick. He tugged Patrick in the opposite direction. Their families could survive a couple of minutes without them. Stevie might not, but he’d make it up to her later. 

They wandered through the gallery and David told Patrick everything he liked about each painting—the brushstrokes, the color palette, the blending technique. Patrick made every effort to listen, despite not knowing the technicalities of what David was saying.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever understand art,” he admitted.

“Claude Monet said—”

“The water lilies guy?” Patrick asked and David resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Yes, among other things.”

“Okay, David.” Patrick tried not to laugh. “What did Claude Monet say?”

“Well I’m not going to tell you if you’re just going to make fun of me.”

“I’m not, I’m not! I want to know, I swear.”

“He said ‘Everyone discusses my art and pretends to understand, as if it were necessary to understand, when it is simply necessary to love.’”

“Oh,” Patrick said, his teasing smile melting into something softer. “That is nice.”

David did really like the quote but he had also thought that maybe saying the word  _ love _ would spur Patrick on, encourage him to confess... David couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved. It’s not like he knew how he would respond.

Maybe it was best that they both keep their mouths shut for now. Monet was right—it’s not alway necessary to understand—and David didn’t, entirely, understand his feelings. He understood more than he used to, certainly. He understood that love wasn’t as scary as he’d alway thought.

After all, how could he be scared if Patrick was holding his hand?

“Patrick, David! There you are!” Marcy called. “We were thinking about getting some coffee, if the Roses would like to join us? Stevie too, of course.”

There was something about this group of people, all the ones who meant something to David, being together— _ wanting _ to be together, for him and Patrick. David clenched his jaw, because if he opened his mouth he really didn’t know what kind of sound would come out. Patrick saved him.

“Sure,” he said. “We know a great coffee spot.”

They somehow managed to carall everyone together (the Brewers were very efficient people) and urge them towards the gallery exit.

“Oh,” Stevie said, trying to detach herself from the group. “I don’t want to impose—”

“You’re coming,” David said. This was a family thing and Stevie had, with great reluctance on both their sides, become a part of David’s family.

Stevie couldn’t be talked into many things she didn’t want to do, so when she nodded and followed them along, David knew she was in it. 

Alexis, in a moment of girlish camaraderie, latched on to Stevie’s arm and dragged her along. Stevie, who was generally opposed to  _ girlish _ and  _ camaraderie, _ indulged her. David rolled his eyes—no one ever said no to Alexis.

He allowed everyone to trudge ahead, to better steal another moment alone with his boyfriend.

“So about this summer…” David said, holding the door for Patrick.

It was a cool night, and after being surrounded by a crowd of people, the chill actually felt nice. Still, David used it as an excuse to pull Patrick closer.

“Yes?” Patrick said, following all too willingly. There was something wild and sweet in his eyes. David heard Clint’s voice again in the back of his mind.  _ In love. _

“I think you mentioned something about spending it together?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go, folks!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, folks!

Schitt’s Creek was a boring town.

David had apologized for it immediately upon Patrick’s arrival and at least twice a day since. Patrick knew that David was right—there was even less to do here than in Patrick’s hometown. Schitt’s Creek had a general store, a veterinary clinic, a garage, and one mediocre restaurant. It took an hour to get to the nearest pizza place. Tack on another twenty five minutes if you expected  _ good _ pizza. 

Still… it felt very much like a safe space for Patrick.

He liked spending all of his time with David. He liked spending time with Alexis. He liked talking to Moira, though sometimes he wished he had a dictionary to understand exactly what she was saying. He liked talking to Johnny about business and was grateful every time he didn’t use words like ‘sinistrality’ or ‘vituperate’.

And after a long day of doing very little, Patrick liked to fall asleep next to David. He liked waking up next to David even better. Of course, they had shared a bed plenty of times before—in Patrick’s dorm or David’s apartment. But that happened three nights a week at best and they always had to separate throughout the day for class or schoolwork or baseball. 

So Patrick liked waking up next to David and getting breakfast with David and lunch… He liked spending the day with David and getting dinner with David’s family. He liked falling asleep with David’s arms around him in his way too small twin bed with Alexis snoring five feet away.

If the way David held him as they slept, or the way he twined their hands together as they walked from the motel into town—if the way he kissed Patrick in the middle of his sentences was any indication, David was happy too. 

Patrick liked—maybe not more than all the rest, but it had certainly made an impression—watching David learn to ride a bike. 

David had to be talked into it, of course. Or maybe bullied into it was a better way to put it. Alexis hounded him for days before he gave in, with gentle encouragement from Patrick. It was easy to tease David for making it into his twenties without learning how to ride a bike, but it was easier to praise him. Patrick found himself blinking moisture out of his eyes as he watched David struggle for balance but, if pressed, he would blame it on the unusual amount of dust in the Schitt’s Creek air. 

Patrick liked sharing a knowing glance with Alexis, the same exact look reflected on both of their faces—a shallow layer of teasing humor with a barely concealed affection underneath. They both loved David, not in the exact same way fortunately, but nevertheless it was a nice thing to share.

The three of them were walking to the cafe for dinner one evening—Moira and Johnny having arranged other plans. Patrick walked between them, a Rose on either side. David held his hand while Alexis looped her arm through his. All three of them were laughing as they recalled an incident from earlier in the day, when Roland had been cleaning the gutters and dropped a handful of guttter-gunk directly on Johnny’s head. 

“I’ve never seen him so mad,” David said. “I didn’t know he could yell like that.”

“I think his mouth was  _ open, _ David,” Alexis said and David gagged.

They were still trying to control their laughter when Alexis’ attention caught on Patrick’s wrist. She didn’t say anything, only ran a finger along the braided bracelet that Patrick hadn’t taken off in nearly two months. Patrick didn't know whether she was mad or really if she even recognized it. She had just opened her mouth to say something, when David spoke instead.

“Let’s have dessert for dinner. I want cake,” he said.

“Ew, David.”

The moment was gone. Alexis dropped Patrick’s arm and skipped ahead, beating them to the cafe. When Patrick and David finally got there, she was mid conversation with the young waitress and the entire ordeal was forgotten. David had a piece of angel food cake with whipped cream and strawberries for dinner, until he decided that dessert didn’t actually count as dinner and ordered a burger as well. 

Alexis brought it up two nights later. David had taken his turn in the bathroom, leaving the two of them alone.

“You know,” she said, flipping the crinkled page of an old magazine, “I bought David a bracelet just like that years ago.”

“I know,” Patrick said. “It’s his.”

“Is it?” Alexis asked, something funny in her voice, like she hadn’t dared believe it before. She was still pretending to focus on the magazine, but Patrick knew that she couldn’t actually be reading any of the 74 Ways To Accentuate Your Jawline that the cover advertised—not at the rate at which she turned the page. He thought she might just be doing it for the sound effect.

“Yeah, is that… I can take it off,” Patrick offered, but made no move to do so. He didn’t want to take it off. He had gotten used to its presence on his wrist—had gotten used to the way it tickled when David played with it sometimes. David had promised that it wouldn’t bother Alexis, and Patrick had believed him. But now he wasn’t so sure. It was a gift, afterall, and maybe Alexis didn’t want—

“No,” she said. “No, it’s okay. I just… didn’t realize that he had kept it, is all.” She closed the magazine and threw it on the floor, where it joined a pile of other discarded items.

“Oh.”

“I mean, he brought it to school with him.” Alexis was looking at him now, eyes wide. 

“He did.”

“Hm.” Alexis was asking him for something, for some sort of affirmation. She wanted this to be the proof she needed, evidence that her brother loved her. 

Patrick knew their relationship hadn’t alway been solid. Alexis was gone for a lot of their childhood, at a boarding school in Switzerland or, during her summers, pursuing a teen modeling career. Their upbringing hadn’t exactly fostered a strong bond, despite them having only each other. It had been a lonely childhood, for David at least. But Patrick could still see that they had come a long way in the years since they had lost everything, in the years that they had been forced to share a bedroom. Maybe not so far as to exchange  _ I love yous _ on the daily, but at least far enough to think it, to feel it.

And Patrick knew David well enough to speak for him on this, at least.

“He loves you, Alexis.”

“Hm,” she said again, but it was decidedly brighter than the one prior. “And he gave the bracelet to you.”

“Yes,” Patrick said, his heart thumping a little louder in his chest. 

“He loves you.”

Was it a question? Or was Alexis telling Patrick that David loved him, that she had been able to see it for herself? Furthermore, was she sharing this information with Patrick because she thought he didn’t know?

Patrick did know, was the thing. Had known it for a while actually. Almost as soon as he’d been able to recognize it in himself, he’d recognized it in David. But knowing something was different from saying it, and currently, they were stuck somewhere in between the two. 

Still, hearing Alexis say it out loud loosened something inside.

“I know,” he said. 

Alexis beamed, like that was all she was looking for—some sort of safety net for her brother. Someone who would love David and more than that, someone who knew how to be loved  _ by _ David, someone who wanted that responsibility.

“What are we talking about?” David asked as he came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his head.

“Skincare,” Alexis said, tossing a discrete wink in Patrick’s direction.

“Really?” David asked.

“Yeah I was explaining to Patrick what combination skin is and why it takes you 45 extra minutes in the bathroom and 37 different products to take care of it.”

“Nine products, Alexis,  _ nine— _ and why are you badmouthing me to my boyfriend when I’m not around? It’s like you want him to break up with me!”

“David I’m not going to break up with you because you have combination skin,” Patrick said. Patrick didn’t actually know what that meant—combined with what?—but he felt pretty sure it wouldn’t be a strain on their relationship.

“I  _ don’t _ have combination skin, Alexis is a  _ liar—” _

“Hey Patrick,” she said, interrupting David, “did David ever tell you about the summer he had warts all over his elbow?”

“What are you doing?” David screamed, flailing his hands in every direction.

“You didn’t want me to badmouth you while you weren’t around,” Alexis said. “But you’re here now, so I assumed it would be okay.”

David glared at her, his mouth hung open in disbelief. He grunted and spun around to face Patrick. “Well, has Alexis told you about her tattoo?” he asked.

“David, don’t!” Alexis whined.

“Aren’t you… seventeen?” Patrick said.

“It was  _ supposed _ to say ‘that’s hot’ in cantonese.”

“David! Ugh!”

“It actually says ‘sunburn.’”

“I was twelve! I didn’t know how to read cantonese!”

Patrick couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around that, so he laughed for lack of a better response. When Alexis glared at him, he felt just bad enough to give her something back. “It’s okay, Alexis,” he said. “A few weeks ago David asked me if Portugal was in South America.”

“Oh my god, David. We’ve  _ been _ to Portugal,” Alexis said, a mix of satisfaction and mirth lighting up her face.

“That’s not fair! I just  _ forgot, _ Patrick!” The frustration in David’s voice was almost physical. Patrick swore David had to restrain himself from stomping his foot like a toddler. Patrick loved him all the more for it. 

They tagged each other like that for another twenty minutes before even the most outrageous stories lost their sting and their beds called louder than even Alexis’ most shrill giggle. Patrick opted to be the big spoon that night, in order to soothe David’s bruised ego. He didn’t regret the teasing though—not one bit. Watching David and Alexis volley back and forth, and allow him into their game, made him feel like he was at home here.

Like he was family.

* * *

Something had changed about Schitt’s Creek since David had been gone. Maybe it was the flowers they added around the motel. Maybe the general store had a fresh coat of paint, or the cafe had finally hired someone who knew how to make a pot of coffee. Maybe it just smelled better since garbage pick-up happened two days a week now, instead of just once. 

Maybe it was just Patrick Brewer that made everything better. He didn’t seem to mind the ugly motel room or the large menus at the cafe. Everything David had been embarrassed to show him, he just brushed off as though it were funny or charming. Even when he agreed that the towels they had were threadbare and ratty, he shrugged his shoulders and dried his body like it didn’t matter. And it didn’t, David supposed.

Yes, Patrick made Schitt’s Creek better. But the truth, if David could stomach the thought, was that Schitt’s Creek had started to feel like home long before he met Patrick. Maybe he had missed it. 

He had missed his family.

His parents, of course, but mostly David missed Alexis.

He had missed knowing what was going on in her life. Being gone had felt too much like before, when they hardly talked at all. Of course they had texted while David was at school, but not nearly enough. She’d had a lot to catch him up on during his first couple of days home. 

She’d briefly dated the mayor’s son, but they had broken up back in March. She’d been pretty torn up about it, and David felt a pang in his chest that he hadn’t been there to hug her. Not that they had a habit of hugging, but he thought that it was something he’d like to do. It would have been appropriate in the moment, to comfort her.

Alexis talked for hours about the new volunteer at the vet clinic—how cute he was and all the terrible puns he made. David shuddered at the thought.

“I know,” she had said, and rolled her eyes. But David heard nothing but warmth behind her words. She must really like him if she was willing to spend time around sick and smelly animals. 

Alexis had changed—in a very subtle way, sure… but she’d changed nonetheless. She seemed a little softer around the edges but stronger in the middle.

School was still hard for her, but she’d managed to get an A in one of her classes, something she tried to casually slip out during a conversation at the cafe. Moira had acknowledged her with an affectionate pinch on the arm while she studied the menu, Johnny had let out an “Oh, wow Alexis!” and insisted they celebrate with cake, and even Patrick offered his congratulations. But Alexis looked to David, and it was then that he realized she cared about his opinion, that she wanted his approval. 

“What class?” he asked.

Alexis immediately frowned. “Ugh, don’t be a dick David. Why can’t you just congratulate me like everyone else?”

“What! I’m  _ not— _ I am! I was just asking a question!”

“Whatever. It was Digital Media and Website Design. Judge all you want.”

“I’m not judging! It’s—that’s, uh… It’s impressive, Alexis, that’s all I’m trying to say.”

“Really?” She sounded guarded, like she wasn’t yet ready to believe he wasn’t going to laugh in her face and then ask her to pass the salt.

“Really,” he said.

Satisfied, Alexis leaned across the table and booped him on the noise, crinkling her eyes with warmth as she did so. David put in the minimal effort to avoid the touch, knowing it’s what she expected, but he found that he didn’t really mind the gesture all that much.

He  _ was _ proud of her.

David was beginning to think that maybe he’d like to stick around after he graduated, rather than immediately running off to New York. Schitts Creek really wasn’t the  _ worst _ place he could end up, and his family seemed uncharacteristically comfortable against the sepia backdrop of the town. 

And if Patrick still wanted him a year from now then there was really no reason to leave at all, was there?

David was pretty sure he was in love with Patrick.

Actually, David was positive he was in love with Patrick, but he felt more comfortable thinking in ‘pretty sures’ and ‘probablys’ than he did in ‘positives’ and 'definitelys'. It gave him some protection, a tiny barrier around his heart should he need it. 

But even though David clung to his qualifiers, he still wanted to hear Patrick say it. It was selfish on David’s part, he knew, but… he wanted it. He wanted that piece of Patrick’s heart, even if he wasn’t ready to spare his own. It would help, he thought, if Patrick went first.

He thought about asking Patrick to say it all the time—about whispering it in his ear at night, demanding it.

_ Tell me that you love me. _

Did that make him a terrible person? To be so caught up in being loved? But he wouldn’t be demanding the love so much as demanding verbal evidence.

The love was already there, David was pretty sure.

Positive. Definitely.

He could feel it in Patrick’s fingertips, when he ran his hands up and down David’s arms, when he twined their fingers together as they walked or traced featherlight patterns in the center of David’s palm.

He could see it in Patrick’s eyes when they laughed together, or when he joined Alexis in a round of relentless teasing. 

He could taste it on Patrick’s tongue every time they kissed. 

He could  _ almost _ hear it in the beat of silence after Patrick said goodnight.

He wanted to  _ actually _ hear it, though. To bask in the glow of being loved out loud, loved undeniably, loved on purpose.

David thought it might make it easier, then, to love Patrick out loud. It was a silent thing right now, living in the corners of his mind and the pulse of his heart—silent, but not small. David just wanted some reassurance, some encouragement, before he could let it out.

_ Tell me, tell me. _

But he couldn’t very well push Patrick to do the thing that he, himself, was terrified of. What if Patrick was scared, too? 

David was being stupid.  _ Of course _ Patrick was scared. 

Everytime David got in his head about all of his failed relationships, it was easy to forget what Patrick had gone through. Their pasts were nowhere near identical, but this was new territory for both of them. David would have to be patient.

It was just hard to put a cap on his feelings when Patrick had ingratiated himself so well with his family, when he’d fit himself into David’s life so seamlessly. 

Patrick seemed content to spend the entire summer in Schitt’s Creek, but David had to remind him that they’d promised to split their time between their families. Although the thought of staying with Marcy and Clint made David nervous, he didn’t want to upset them. They were nice, and they liked David. It baffled him, sure, but he wasn't ready to ruin it. Not yet.

As they said goodbye to his family, David chanced a quick hug with Alexis. She seemed equal parts shocked and pleased and David would have to let the look on her face carry him towards their next phone call. He promised himself he would make it a priority.

Patrick pulled out of the motel parking lot and made it a good forty-five minutes before he started biting his thumbnail. It was a nervous habit that had only started a couple of days ago, by David’s observation. Right around when they made their definitive plans to stay with Patrick’s parents.

In a gesture that had nothing to do with his strong opinions on nail maintenance and cuticle care but rather his desire to calm his boyfriend, David grabbed Patrick’s hand and held it in his lap. Patrick only broke the hold when he needed both hands to drive, but his hand always came back to David’s and David considered that a win. 

Of course it also worked to stop David from twisting his rings, his own nervous habit.

The Brewers’ were so… normal, David thought. He didn’t know what to do with normal, especially not for extended periods of time. Messy was familiar. His family was messy, he was messy. Even Patrick was a little bit messy.

Patrick’s parents though… His parents were nice. The kind of parents who knew their son’s middle name and the time he was born. They probably knew exactly where Patrick’s birth certificate was. 

Actually, he could see how Patrick would have a hard time coming out to them. They were lovely people, yes, and it’s true that they had been nothing but supportive towards Patrick and, by extension, David. But just standing in their home, surrounded by handmade quilts and frilly curtains, as Marcy kissed his cheek and said “I’ve made up the guest bedroom for you, dear,” David could feel the conventions rolling off of the Brewers in waves. It’s not that it was bad, it was just… heavy. He could see how it weighed on Patrick.

“Is that really necessary?” Patrick said. “I mean, he could just sleep in my room.”

“No I think the guest room is fine,” Marcy said.

“Mom—”

“Patrick it’s fine,” David said.

“Is it?” Patrick looked at him before swinging back around to face his mother. “David’s not a girl, mom. He’s not Rachel. _ ” _

There was a rosy flush creeping up Patrick’s cheeks. David had the color memorized, he saw that color in his dreams and every time he closed his eyes. Usually it was sweet, the result of embarrassment or pleasure. Here, now, it was anger that colored Patrick’s cheeks. David didn’t entirely understand it. He was a little taken aback, actually, to see the irritation so plain on Patrick’s face. Sure, they had spent the past few weeks sleeping together in David’s bed, but it wasn’t so big a deal to sleep across the hall. 

Marcy looked surprised too, but she recovered quickly. “I know that,” she said. “But I still think it’s best this way.”

Patrick opened his mouth to respond, but David grabbed his hand before he could say anything. 

“Show me the guest room,” he said.

Patrick closed his mouth, nodded his head, and dragged David up the stairs and down the hall. The guest room was clean but plain, lacking any distinctive decorating beyond sheer curtains and two white throw pillows. It was welcoming in its own way, David supposed.

When Patrick closed the bedroom door behind them, he turned to David.

“This is stupid,” he said.

“They’re just being parents, Patrick.”

“Are they? I feel like—I just—” Patrick sat on the bed with a huff and looked up at David. “I feel like they don’t know how to act around me. Or maybe I don’t know how to act around them.”

“That’s okay,” David said. He was in no position to give advice on how to foster a strong connection with family members, but the one thing living in a motel taught him was how to be comfortable with his family’s faults. Patrick raised an eyebrow. “It is. It’ll get easier.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said.

David sat next to him and threaded their fingers together. He stayed quiet, letting Patrick choose whether or not to fill the silence. Patrick seemed to study their hands for a moment before he spoke again.

“Sometimes… I look at you and I have to remind myself that we’re together, that this is real.” David squeezed his hand and kissed his shoulder. “I’ve never felt—I think I’m scared that it could all go away, or that…” Patrick paused to swallow, “Or that I’m wrong and I’m not—that it could be a phase and I’m not actually gay. That I’ll just end up feeling how I felt before.”

“Come here,” David said, tugging Patrick into a hug.

The words should startle him, but David knew this wasn’t Patrick questioning his sexuality, not really. These thoughts were pretty much standard Queer Doubt. David had experienced it, as had almost every other queer person he knew. It came with the territory.

“I’m not going anywhere,” David whispered.

Patrick tilted his head up to kiss David’s neck. “I know,” he said.

“Have you talked to your therapist lately?” 

“Why would you ask me that?” Patrick said, anger seeping into his tone. Then, as if he could hear it himself, he sighed and said, “No.”

“Call her,” David said.

“I haven’t needed to. I’ve felt… good.”

“Okay, I’m glad. But… You know being at home and around your parents brings up a lot more… stuff.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m not saying that stuff isn’t justified or that you can’t feel uncomfortable or angry—you can and I will be here when you do—I just think your therapist is better equipped to help you through it.”

“I’ll call her.”

“Good, I’ll just… unpack while you do that.”

Patrick kissed David before he left, a slow and soft press of lips on lips—a grateful kiss, a  _ thank you _ kiss and, David was pretty sure, an  _ I love you _ kiss.

They’d gotten very good at finding silent ways to say it.

* * *

Patrick didn’t think that seeing David in his old bedroom, in his old house, would feel like rewriting his memories. When he’d agreed to stay with his parents for a couple of weeks, he didn’t think it would be like this—didn’t think it would feel so much like  _ healing. _

Actually, he’d thought the opposite. He had been afraid to leave Schitt’s Creek because he thought spending too much time with his parents would remind him of how difficult things had seemed for so long. And it had, at first. When he’d stepped into his house after months away, it felt like someone had reached inside and squeezed his heart. He felt, immediately, like he had to remind his parents (and himself) that things were  _ not _ the same.

He had to remind himself to communicate.

With time, it began to feel like home again.

Seeing David eating breakfast next to his mother or trying to follow a baseball game with his father reminded him that this is what things were supposed to feel like all along. Patrick might always feel that pang in his chest, the ache of not knowing, of not having the right thing sooner. But everyday he spent with David, the pang was smaller, easier to ignore amongst the swell of other feelings. 

Yes, he hadn’t had it before, but he had it  _ now.  _ And how could he possibly look into David’s eyes and wish that things had turned out any differently?

It actually helped him think about Rachel in a better light too. He didn’t like the guilt and the bitterness that burned in his stomach when he thought of her. None of what had happened had been her fault, but Patrick had still blamed her for taking up so much space in his mind. 

Her presence in his memories didn’t weigh so heavy now that he had David. He was able to look at their time together and appreciate the good parts, to remember that under the failed romance, they’d been friends, too. 

None of it was easy, he still struggled… but he’d struggled before too. There was no longer a permanent pit in his stomach, and the voice that liked to tell him all about the things he would never have had been awfully quiet lately. He had David and he had really supportive parents.

He remembered their faces when he came out to them nearly three months ago, how they’d seemed surprised but recovered quickly. How they promised they loved him and only wanted him to be happy. How they couldn’t wait to, officially, meet David.

Patrick also had a great therapist.

He had taken extra care not to neglect therapy again. He hadn’t meant to do it in the first place, but sometimes when things are going well he’d rather pay no attention to any of his negative emotions, he’d rather not dig through any of his baggage. But that’s the same attitude that got him so far in the closet in the first place, and Patrick never wanted to feel like that again. 

So he’d been calling his therapist twice a week in the early afternoon. Typically he’d take his car and drive to a nearby park to stare at the trees or the lake for an hour while they talked. He worried about leaving David with his parents, but more than once he’d come home to find him sitting on the back porch with his mother, a cup of tea in both their hands.

He wondered if David felt a similar kind of warmth stir somewhere near his heart when he saw Patrick talking with Moira.

Patrick expected a similar sight to greet him when he got home today, but was surprised to see both of his parents sitting on the front porch, no David in sight.

“Where’s David?” he asked, bending to kiss his mother on her cheek.

“Inside,” she said.

Patrick walked into the house and kicked off his shoes. There was a sweet scent coming from the kitchen.

“David?” Patrick called as he made his way towards the back of the house.

“Here,” David called back.

Patrick stopped in the doorway, surprised and delighted at the domestic scene in front of him. David was standing next to a wrack of cookies and, Patrick will remember this for the rest of his life, he was wearing an apron. It was blue. It was floral. It had  _ frills. _

“You look… good,” Patrick said.

“Well you know I like to commit to the aesthetic,” David said, waving a flourishing hand down the length of his body.

“And what’s the aesthetic today?” Patrick asked.

“Um, obviously it's ‘Your Boyfriend Bakes You Cookies’. I toyed with ‘Queer Domesticity’ as an alternate title, but I thought it was a little heavy handed, so.”

“Well, I think you look very cute.”

“That’s a given,” David said.

Patrick walked across the room to stand next to his boyfriend. He leaned against the counter and said, “Do I get to try these cookies?”

“Um, yes. But—” David grabbed Patrick’s wrist before he could grab a cookie, “I should warn you. They are  _ not _ good. I used your mom’s recipe, but I don’t know what happened.”

“I’m sure they’re delicious, David.”

Patrick grabbed a cookie. It was still warm in his hand and he noticed the bottom was a little burnt, but it was the gesture that mattered more than anything. He took a bite.

David was right. In addition to being burnt, the cookie was bland and a little dry. David must have used too much flour and, if Patrick had to guess, forgotten the salt entirely. It did not taste very good, but it did sort of taste like love.

Patrick frowned at the cookie.

“I’m sorry—” David started to say as he plucked the cookie from Patrick’s hands.

“I love you,” Patrick said.

And before David could so much as gasp in response, Patrick was kissing him. It was long and heated, with more teeth involved than Patrick intended, but he needed David to know. If his words weren’t enough to convince him, surely the press of his tongue would do the trick.

They broke apart, chests heaving, faces red, eyes glistening.

“You’re a liar,” David said. It sent a shock through Patrick.

“What? No—”

“The cookies are terrible,” David said, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, chasing any taste of Patrick and lightly burnt peanut butter that might have remained. He smiled then, and Patrick had never seen anything like it.

He grabbed the half eaten cookie that David was still holding and shoved the entire thing in his mouth. “Tastes okay to me,” he said.

“I’ve told you many times not to talk with food in your mouth,” David said, but he was laughing and pulling Patrick closer.

Patrick didn’t know what about David baking him cookies had been The Moment, but it felt right. He assumed it had something to do with David doing something he was unfamiliar with, something that Patrick had always associated with love. His mom baked for her family because she loved them and David baked for Patrick because… Well.

It didn’t need to be said.

Patrick had known that David might not say it back right away. He’d been nervous about it, thought it would sting to put the words out there and not have them reciprocated, but… it didn’t. It suddenly seemed only important that David hear him.

He just wanted David to know, that was all.

Patrick convinced David not to throw the cookies away before his parents got to try them. He knew his mom would be proud, no matter how bad they tasted. He also agreed to help David try again tomorrow, despite the fact that he had none of his mother’s culinary skill.

And if the cookies turned out worse, Patrick thought they would still have fun anyway.

For the rest of the day, it was hard for Patrick to keep his hands to himself and harder to focus on anything that wasn’t David. It was hard to sit through an entire movie with his parents, but at least they’d managed to convince them to watch a light-hearted rom-com instead of Brokeback Mountain, which his dad claimed ‘he’d been meaning to see.’

Later, long after Patrick’s parents had fallen asleep, David tapped on Patrick’s door and climbed into the bed next to him. They lay face to face, mere inches between them.

“Tell me again,” David whispered.

Patrick thought about rolling his eyes, about just kissing him instead. But after a moment, he pulled David close, brushed their lips together and breathed “I love you” into his mouth, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

* * *

Patrick had said it seven times and, each time, David had not said it back. 

He had honestly thought it would be easier, that once Patrick said it out loud, David would be able to do the same. Having that reassurance—it’s what he wanted, what he’d been waiting for.

So what stopped him now?

It wasn’t doubt that kept him from saying it, surprisingly. David didn’t doubt Patrick at all. The trust was there—he knew Patrick wasn’t lying. He also didn’t doubt himself—he loved Patrick. There was no other word to explain his feelings.

It was something smaller, in the back of David’s mind, something softer that told him it was okay to go slow. That David didn’t need to rush to say it because, for the first time, Patrick wasn’t leaving. They had time. 

David could say it today or next week or next month and Patrick would still be around to hear it. 

He could give Patrick pieces of his heart one at a time, as he saw fit, and know that Patrick would stay long enough to collect the entire set. Nobody had wanted that from David before. Nobody had wanted a single piece, let alone the entire thing.

So maybe David was dragging it out a bit. Maybe he wanted to savor it. Maybe he wanted to be able to look back and say, with certainty, that this wasn’t something he’d rushed into. 

They stayed with the Brewers for another week and David realized, slowly but surely, that he might have to amend his original judgement. Yes, the Brewers were nice. The Brewers were normal. It’s just, David was learning, that normal and messy kind of went hand in hand. They bickered sometimes, they had their faults and their quirks, and just like Patrick, it made them immensely loveable in David’s eyes. 

They did have to leave eventually though, and when they did, it was with boxes shoved into the back of Patrick’s car. He had decided he’d rather have an apartment for his last year of school and David could not have been more on board. A place to go with a full size bed and no Stevie listening outside the door? Yes, please. 

David didn’t shy away from giving Patrick his opinions on decor, and while Patrick promised to take his advice into consideration, he did also remind David that he was on a very tight budget. He ended up taking a lot of kitchenware and surplus bedding from his parents, and while David didn’t  _ love _ the aesthetic, he couldn’t really argue with  _ free. _

He could, however, argue with carrying heavy boxes up four flights of stairs.

“Can’t you just… invite me over when this is done?” David said. He was beginning to sweat already and there were still, like, ten more boxes in Patrick’s car.

“If you stop whining, and help, it will take half the time.”

David resented Patrick for being right, and for making him engage in a physical activity that didn’t end with an orgasm. They got all of the boxes into Patrick’s apartment and, while David thought it would be a great idea to take a break, Patrick immediately moved on to unpacking.

“We have to meet Stevie soon,” David said.

“We have two hours, David.” Patrick lifted two boxes and walked them into his bedroom. When he came back, he lifted another and set it on the kitchen counter. David studied the way Patrick’s arms flexed and thought that maybe this wasn’t  _ such _ a waste of time.

“Did you know the ideal nap length is 90 minutes? Like, scientifically speaking.” David stood by Patrick’s window, looking down at the street below.

Patrick threw a wadded up ball of bubble wrap in David’s direction. It only made it halfway across the floor, but the gesture was understood nonetheless. When David looked at Patrick with fake outrage, he was laughing. David liked him.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Patrick said. He dragged the scissor along the length of another box and tugged it open. He began to pull out a collection of wrapped dishes and mugs his parents had sent along.

“About anything specific?” David asked.

“Yeah,” Patrick turned towards him. “I’ve got some room in my schedule this semester and uh, I was thinking of taking another art class. If you have any recommendations…” 

“I might have some ideas,” David said, a small smile creeping onto his face. 

It didn’t matter if Patrick was taking an art class to spend more time with him or because he wanted to be able to talk to David about art or because he was really interested in improving. It only mattered that it sounded like a promise, it sounded like another semester together, it sounded like four more months for David to fall even more in love with Patrick.

“Great! Great,” Patrick said, “and uh… do you have any ideas about helping me unpack these boxes?” He kicked the box by his foot and turned away from David.

David came up behind him and slipped his hands around Patrick’s middle. He placed a gentle kiss to the back of Patrick’s neck. Patrick was a little sweaty, just like the first time they met, but David didn’t mind. They stayed like that for a minute, David resting his head on Patrick’s shoulder and Patrick leaning into David’s embrace.

“Tell me,” David said.

Patrick turned around in David’s arms and looked at him. He brought his hand up to cup the side of David’s face, letting his thumb trace a path across his cheek. 

“I love you,” he said.

David rested his forehead against Patrick’s and thought of tomorrow. He thought of next week and next month and next year, and in every single thought Patrick stood beside him.

“I love you too,” he said.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say one last thank you to everyone who has read, or commented, or given kudos! It really means the world to me. I had a lot of fun writing this but, to be honest, at the beginning I had no idea if it was something I would manage to finish. But here we are four months later! I'm actually really proud of myself. Not only was this my first fic, but I've also never written anything this long before.
> 
> Anyway, I love you all.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as hagface if you want to say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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